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“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


MRS.  PRANCES  JOSEPH-GAUDET. 


HE  LEADETH  ME 


—BY— 

FRANCES  JOSEPH-GAUDET 


COPYRIGHT,  1913. 

BY 

FRANCES  JOSEPH-GAUDET 


LOUISIANA  PRINTING  COMPANY.  LIMITED. 
NEW  ORLEANS 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE  story  Mrs.  Frances  A.  Joseph  tells  so  modestly  and 
simply  is  as  thrilling  as  it  is  creditable  to  the  woman- 
hood of  her  race. 

That  a woman  born  in  a small  Mississippi  town  out  of 
touch  with  the  reformatory  agencies  and  societies  which 
usually  suggest  their  field  to  those  who  take  up  this  work ; 
and  that  without  suggestion  from  statistics,  reports,  or 
ardent  protests  from  humanitarians  to  stir  her  up  to  effort, 
should  be  moved  to  over-ride  the  prejudices  and  suspicions 
of  her  own  class  toward  one  of  their  number  engaging  in  a 
work  so  unsavory  and  amid  associations  so  questionable,  is 
little  short  of  marvelous. 

The  story  which  she  tells  was  not  offered  voluntarily, 
but  is  the  result  of  the  earnest  solicitation  of  those  who  be- 
lieve it  will  attract  attention,  bring  co-operation  and  help 
from  Christian  hearts  and  hands,  North  and  South,  who  seek 
to  enter  every  open  door  of  love,  duty  and  sympathy  leading 
to  the  amelioration  of  the  sad  condition  of  the  criminal  and 
misguided  classes.  Mrs.  Joseph  gives  as  her  reason  rather 
than  the  applause  of  men,  “the  hope  ‘that  when  our  women 
read  of  this  my  mission,  they  may  become  inspired  to  do 
what  they  can  in  the  same  way,” — the  noblest  reason  that 
can  be  given  for  this  production. 

In  the  pages  which  follow  are  facts  more  thrilling  than 
romance.  This  is  not  a story  spun  from  a highly  imagina- 
tive mind,  but  solid  truths  dealt  with  and  experienced  by 
an  earnest  Christian  woman.  Read  her  own,  straight-for- 
ward story,  and  if  further  proof  of  the  author’s  worth  is 
needed,  read  the  following  testimonials. 


2 


“HE  LEADETH  ME.” 


From  The  Christian  Herald. 

“As  beautiful  Elizabeth  Fry,  the  Angel  of  Newgate  and 
many  other  prisons,  and  next  to  Howard,  greatest  of  prison 
reformers,  labored  among  criminals  of  her  time,  Frances  A. 
Joseph,  a woman  of  the  Negro  race,  is  laboring  among  pris- 
oners, black  and  white,  in  Southern  jails.  That  Elizabeth 
Fry,  wealthy  and  of  the  highest  social  position,  should  im- 
press people  of  station  and  authority,  overcome  prejudice 
and  win  sympathy  and  co-operation,  is  small  matter  for 
marvel;  but  that  the  daughter  of  a lowly  Negro  minister,  a 
seamstress,  making  her  living  by  her  needle,  should  succeed 
in  doing  what  Mrs.  Joseph  has  accomplished  may  be  cause 
for  considerable  wonder. 

“Mrs.  Joseph  is  the  first  American  woman  to  choose 
mission  work  among  Negro  prisoners.  Her  labors,  begun 
for  her  own  people,  were  quickly  extended  to  white  unfor- 
tunates, as  her  regular  visits  and  ministration  includes  the 
prison-yards  of  both  races. 

“Known  on  two  continents,  she  has,  indeed,  accom- 
plished great  good,  and  commands  the  respectful  consider- 
ation of  her  community,  the  great  commendation  of  the 
Mayor  and  other  officials  of  New  Orleans;  the  confidence 
of  the  Governor  of  her  state,  and  the  warm  regard  of  the 
Prison  Reform  Association  of  Fouisiana.  In  a recent  trip 
abroad,  whither  she  went  as  delegate  to  the  International 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  Convention,  she 
was  heard  at  Edinburgh,  the  Ford  Lieutenant  of  Scotland 
being  one  of  her  auditors;  later  at  Belfast,  Ireland;  next  in 
Spurgeon’s  Tabernacle,  London;  and  then  at  Paris,  by 
audiences  as  attentive  as  those  which  have  recently  been 
her  listeners  in  New  York.  As  Mrs.  Fry’s  hearers  were 
confined  to  one  continent,  it  may  be  said  that  Mrs.  Joseph, 
in  point  of  territory  covered  by  personal  addresses,  has 
somewhat  the  advantage  of  her  great  English  prototype.  In 
her  own  country,  she  has  visited  twenty-two  prisons  in  as 
many  different  states.”  Thus  spoke  the  “Christian  Herald” 
and  “Signs  of  our  Times”  of  the  author  of  this  volume. 

The  accompanying  cut,  prepared  especially  for  this  book 
of  research  work,  is  an  excellent  likeness  of  Mrs.  Frances  A. 
Joseph,  who  is  thus  described  in  one  of  the  issues  of  the 


INTRODUCTION 


3 


Southwestern  Christian  Advocate,  published  in  New  Or- 
leans, by  Rev.  I.  B.  Scott,  now  one  of  the  Bishops  of  the 
M.  E.  Church : 

From  the  Southwestern  Christian  Advocate. 

“Mrs.  Frances  Joseph,  of  this  city,  is  really  a remark- 
able woman.  We  dare  say  there  is  no  woman  of  any  race, 
who  has  devoted  herself  more  fully  to  administering  both 
to  the  spiritual  and  temporal  needs  of  the  lowly  than  she. 
Five  years  ago  she  recognized  the  necessity  for  some  one 
visiting  those  who  are  sick  and  in  prison,  and  doing  as  much 
as  possible  to  relieve  their  suffering,  and  also  to  provide  for 
their  spiritual  needs.  To  such  work  she  has  devoted  herself 
so  assiduously  that  those  confined  in  the  parish  prison  and 
the  city  workhouse  are  much  disappointed  when  she  does 
not  make  her  appearance  from  week  to  week.  She  has  led 
quite  a number  to  Christ,  furnished  reading  matter  and 
distributed  scores  of  articles  of  clothing  to  those  who  were 
not  even  prepared  to  appear  in  the  courts  for  trial.  Mrs. 
Joseph  is  highly  respected  by  the  city  and  parish  authori- 
ties and  is  assisted  and  encouraged  in  her  work  by  many  of 
the  best  white  citizens  of  the  city.  We  shall  be  pleased  to 
give  her  every  encouragement  possible,  and  hope  the  day 
may  come  when  scores  of  her  sisters  of  the  race  may  be 
found  by  her  side  in  the  performance  of  this  God-given 
task.” 

H.  T.  Kealing,  Editor  A.  M.  E.  Review. 


Department  of  Police  and  Public  Buildings, 

Room  26,  City  Hall, 

New  Orleans,  March  10,  1898. 

Mrs.  Frances  A.  Joseph, 

President  Frances  E.  Willard  Union  of  Louisiana. 

Dear  Madam — 

Your  letter  of  yesterday  only  reached  me  this  morning 
owing  to  my  visiting  lower  markets. 

The  enclosed  letter  from  your  pastor,  Rev.  L.  H.  Rey- 
nolds, is  only  in  accord  with  the  impression  I formed  at  our 
first  meeting. 


4 


“HE  LEADETH  ME.” 


I believe  you  ought  to  have  extended  a helping  hand 
and  not  thwarted,  and  for  that  reason  enclose  you  an  admit 
card. 


Should  any  employee  of  mine  so  far  forget  himself  as 
to  refuse  to  honor  same,  telephone  my  office  during  business 
hour,  or  Fire  Alarm  at  night. 


With  my  best  wishes  for  the  success  of  your  efforts, 
I remain 


Yours  respectfully, 


(Signed)  J.  W.  Murphy, 

Commissioner. 


Department  of  Police  and  Public  Buildings, 

Room  26,  City  Hall, 

New  Orleans,  March  10,  1898. 

To  Whom  It  May  Concern: 

Permission  is  hereby  granted  Mrs.  Frances  A.  Joseph 
to  visit  Police  Jail  at  any  time  she  feels  disposed. 

(Signed)  John  W.  Murphy, 

Commissioner. 


Office  of  Criminal  Sheriff, 

Parish  of  Orleans, 

New  Orleans.  March  23,  1898. 

Mrs.  Frances  A.  Joseph, 

Madam — 

In  answer  to  yours  of  this  date,  I can  say  your 
visits  to  this  institution  have  so  far  been  pleasant,  and  I 
appreciate  the  good  you  have  done  in  behalf  of  the  unfor- 
tunate confined,  distributing  literature  and  advising  them 
for  their  good. 

Respectfully, 

(Signed)  W.  E.  Uniake,  Sheriff. 


INTRODUCTION 


5 


State  of  Louisiana,  Mayoralty  of  New  Orleans, 

City  Hall,  New  Orleans,  April  24,  1900. 

To  Whom  It  May  Concern: 

Mrs.  Frances  A.  Joseph,  identified  with  many  charities 
in  New  Orleans,  more  particularly  known  for  her  prison 
work  and  as  president  of  the  Frances  Willard  Women’s 
Christian  Temperance  Union  of  Louisiana,  leaves  shortly 
to  attend  an  International  Temperance  Convention,  to  be 
held  in  Edinburgh,  Scotland. 

Mrs.  Joseph  is  so  well  known  to  the  people  of  New 
Orleans  that  she  requires  no  introduction  or  credential 
other  than  her  own  work. 

As  she  goes  among  strangers,  I commend  her  to  the 
kind  offices  of  those  among  whom  she  may  temporarily 
sojourn  during  her  present  mission. 

(Signed)  W.  C.  Flower,  Mayor. 


Prison  Reform  Association, 

New  Orleans,  May  31,1900. 

This  will  introduce  Mrs.  Frances  A.  Joseph,  who  visits 
Europe  as  a delegate  to  the  International  Convention. 

Mrs.  Joseph  is  well  known  in  this  city  for  her  human- 
itarian work,  and  is  a constant  visitor  to  our  jails  and 
prisons,  and  the  objects  sought  for  and  obtained  by  her 
meet  the  very  hearty  endorsement  of  this  association. 

We  trust  that  the  object  of  her  visit  to  Europe  and  the 
Northern  cities  of  the  United  States  may  result  in  full 
accomplishment  of  her  wishes. 

(Signed)  J.  Watts  Kearney,  President. 


6 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


“State  of  Louisiana,  Mayoralty  of  New  Orleans, 
“City  Hall,  November  2,  1911. 
“To  Whom  It  May  Concern: 

“I  am  pleased  to  be  able  to  commend  Mrs.  Frances 
Joseph  Gaudet  for  the  admirable  work  she  has,  and  is  still 
performing,  in  the  care  and  uplifting  of  the  unfortunate  of 
her  own  race  in  this  city  and  section.  Mrs.  Gaudet  enjoys 
the  confidence  and  esteem  of  all  who  know  her  in  this  com- 
munity, and  is  regarded  as  entirely  trustworthy  in  all  she 
says  and  does. 

Respectfully, 

Martin  Behrman,  Mayor. 


AT  THE  PHILADELPHIA  CONFERENCE. 

Resolutions  of  recommendation  and  indorsement  of  the 
Philadelphia  Conference  of  the  African  Methodist  Episcopal 
Church,  in  behalf  of  Mrs.  Frances  A.  Joseph,  of  New  Or- 
leans, La.,  President  of  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance 
Union  of  Louisiana,  and  Superintendent  of  Prison  Mission- 
ary Work. 

Whereas,  the  annual  conference  has  heard  with  the 
most  profound  respect  and  appreciation  of  Mrs.  Frances  A. 
Joseph,  of  New  Orleans,  La.,  president  of  the  Woman’s 
Christian  Temperance  Union  and  Prison  Missionary  Work, 
now  en  route  for  Edinburgh,  Scotland,  as  a delegate  to  the 
World’s  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  Interna- 
tional Convention;  and 

Whereas,  the  conference  has  been  touched  by  the  re- 
cital of  the  work  she  has  accomplished  in  New  Orleans  and 
vicinity,  and  other  places  in  visiting  the  prisons,  securing 
assistance  for  those  unable  to  secure  proper  defense,  acquit- 
tals for  those  unjustly  accused,  and  in  bringing  to  the  atten- 
tion of  the  judges  and  attorneys  the  cases  and  conditions  of 
many  of  those  whose  cause  would  have  gone  unheard ; and 

Whereas,  our  sense  of  appreciation  for  her  services  has 
been  heightened  beyond  expression,  from  the  fact  that  the 
interest  taken  by  her  and  the  assistance  given  have  been 
done  irrespective  of  race,  color,  nationality  or  condition, 


INTRODUCTION 


7 


further,  that  this  work  has  been  prosecuted  without  any 
regular  financial  compensation,  and  done  often  under  the 
most  trying  circumstances  where  she  has  been  liable  to 
meet  with  insult  and  rebuff ; and 

Whereas,  that  in  her,  we  recognize  the  highest  dignity 
of  refinement,  and  the  truest  evidence  of  Christian-like 
character  and  the  undaunted  qualities  of  womanly  heroism, 
which  makes  her  worthy  of  our  unlimited  confidence  and 
highest  endorsement,  we  as  a body  of  Christian  ministers 
can  give ; 

Therefore,  be  it  Resolved,  that  the  84th  Annual  Session 
of  the  Philadelphia  Conference  of  the  African  Methodist 
Episcopal  Church  hereby  recommend  the  said  Mrs.  Frances 
A.  Joseph  and  her  good  work  to  the  people  of  the  United 
Kingdom  of  Great  Britain,  Ireland  and  Scotland,  and  wher- 
ever else  she  may  go,  as  a worthy  representative  of  the  tem- 
perance cause  and  reformatory  prison  life,  asking  for  her 
the  largest  consideration  possible  in  the  extension  of  this 
great  and  laudable  undertaking. 

Resolved,  that  we  endorse  her  determination  to  build 
a home  for  the  unfortunates  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city  of 
New  Orleans  for  the  purpose  of  rescuing  and  sheltering 
boys  and  girls  destined  to  prison  life  for  seeming  vagrancy, 
because  of  their  inability  to  procure  profitable  employment, 
so  that  their  young  lives  be  not  contaminated  by  criminal 
proclivities. 

Resolved,  that  this  Annual  Conference  bestow  upon  her 
our  prayers,  our  fullest  confidence  and  our  petition  for  aid 
in  her  behalf,  to  whom  these  presents  may  come  greetings. 

Done  in  the  city  of  Chester,  State  of  Pennsylvania,  this 
the  7th  day  of  June,  A.  D.  1900. 

W.  B.  Derrick,  Bishop. 

H.  H.  Cooper,  Secretary. 


8 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


From  The  Times-Democrat  of  November  8,  1905. 


With  the  rightful  claim  of  Godmother  to  the  Juvenile 
Court,  the  Era  Club,  considered  its  representation  during 
the  court  sessions  but  a just  manifestation  of  interest  in 
this  method  of  reform  work  effected  by  the  organization. 
Hence  followed  the  appointment  of  members  to  serve  upon 
the  Special  Juvenile  Court  Committees  shortly  after  the 
institution  of  the  child’s  separate  court  law. 

The  presence  of  refined  womanhood  during  the  conduct 
of  the  trials  lends  a certain  dignity  to  the  proceedings,  while 
exerting  a softening  influence  upon  the  hapless  young  mis- 
creants. 

Most  faithful  work  in  this  particular  sphere  has  been 
accomplished  during  the  summer  months  by  Mrs.  H.  Dudley 
Coleman  and  Miss  Anna  Bonnabel,  who  have  been  constant 
and  regular  in  their  attendance  during  the  Juvenile  sessions 
at  both  the  uptown  and  downtown  courts,  presided  over  by 
Judge  Fogarty  and  Judge  Marmouget,  respectively.  The 
efforts  of  these  faithful  members  of  the  Era  Club  have  ac- 
complished great  and  far-reaching  good  in  tempering  the 
nature  of  the  punishment  inflicted  for  minor  misdemeanors 
and  in  lending  their  moral  support  and  influence  to  the 
misguided  youths. 

Another  noble  woman  who  deserves  special  credit  for 
work  in  this  same  broad  field  is  Mrs.  Frances  Joseph,  whose 
faithful  presence  and  influence  at  the  Juvenile  Court  has 
ever  been  a stronghold  and  support  to  young  offenders  of 
the  law. 

Frances  Joseph,  superintendent  of  the  Colored  Indus- 
trial School,  has  effected  the  most  praiseworthy  missionary 
work  in  uplifting  and  establishing  the  high  moral  code  of 
her  race. 

Long  before  the  establishment  of  the  Juvenile  Court 
and  long  before  any  white  woman  thought  of  lending  the 
influence  of  her  presence  at  the  children’s  trials,  Frances 
Joseph  (Gaudet)  faithfully  attended  the  courts. 


INTRODUCTION 


9 


THE  RECEPTION. 

On  Wednesday,  January  2,  1901,  a large  and  enthusi- 
astic reception  was  tendered  to  Mrs.  Frances  A.  Joseph  on 
her  return  from  Europe  in  one  of  our  largest  colored 
churches  in  the  city,  Central  Congregational. 

Mrs.  Joseph  interestingly  entertained  her  audience  for 
nearly  two  hours.  At  this  gathering  the  following  resolu- 
tions were  presented  by  Dr.  A.  M.  Green,  and  unanimously 
adopted : 

“As  citizens  of  the  State  of  Louisiana,  and  of  the  City 
of  New  Orleans,  proud  and  even  boastful  of  whatever  tends 
to  the  honor  and  credit  of  our  state  and  city ; having  wit- 
nessed with  emotions  of  pride  and  admiration  the  self- 
denying  philanthropic  labors  of  our  friend  and  sister,  Mrs. 
Frances  A.  Joseph,  and  being  all  the  more  impressed  be- 
cause of  her  birth  in  our  adjoining  sister  state  of  Mississippi ; 
and  in  view  of  her  model  parentage,  being  the  daughter  of 
a faithful  Christian  minister,  and  of  a mother  of  most  sin- 
cere and  pious  devotion  to  Christ;  and  last,  but  not  least, 
of  her  years  of  pure  life,  her  chaste  life  and  character  in  our 
midst;  we  deem  this  an  opportune  time  and  occasion  for 
an  expression  of  our  high  estimation  of  the  character  and 
worth,  of  one  who,  with  such  a spirit  of  total  self-abnega- 
tion, and  persevering  love  for  the  fallen  distressed,  has  gone 
her  own  way  into  popular  recognition  until  the  people  of 
two  great  continents  recognize  and  applaud  her  noble  efforts 
on  behalf  of  the  poor,  homeless  and  neglected  boys  and  girls 
of  her  race; 

“Resolved  therefore:  It  is  a pleasure  to  know  that  the 
zeal  and  persevering  energy  of  Mrs.  Joseph  has  resulted  in 
the  bringing  together  of  citizens  and  their  permanent  organ- 
ization for  helpfulness  in  the  work  that  lies  nearest  her 
heart. 

“Resolved:  That  the  Colored  Industrial  Home  and 
School  Association,  and  the  subscriptions  and  assurances  of 
material  aid  of  citizens  of  wealth  and  influence,  both  at 
home  and  abroad,  are  the  surest  possible  guarantee  of  final 
success,  and  of  the  fact  that  our  friend  and  honored  guest 
of  the  evening  has  not  labored  in  vain. 


10 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


“Resolved:  That  in  furtherance  of  the  grand  objects 
herein  expressed,  and  as  earnest  of  our  desire  for  the  per- 
fect success  of  this  movement,  we  do  hereby  pledge  it  our 
most  cheerful  endorsement,  and  our  determination  to  do 
all  in  our  power  to  assist  and  encourage  the  efforts  put  forth 
in  this  direction.” 


FRANCES  A.  JOSEPH. 

I was  born  in  a log  cabin  in  Holmesville,  Pike  County, 
Mississippi,  November  25,  1861.  My  mother  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  Squire  Yancey,  a slave,  a local  preacher  of  the  A.  M.  E. 
Church.  My  father  left  home  for  the  war  and  never  re- 
turned. My  mother’s  mother  was  an  Indian,  for  whom  I 
was  named.  My  grandparents  kept  me  with  them  until  I 
was  eight  years  old.  Grandfather  and  I were  much  in  love 
with  each  other;  he  rarely  went  to  town  (Summit,  about 
seven  miles  from  home),  without  taking  me  along  on  the 
ox  team.  These  were  treats  to  which  I eagerly  looked  for- 
ward. I well  remember  my  first  money  and  how  I invested 
it.  A gentleman  in  the  store  where  grandfather  dealt  gave 
me  two  silver  five-cent  pieces.  I began  to  look  around  for 
the  largest  thing  I could  purchase  for  five  cents;  it  proved 
to  be  a sugar  loaf  which  was  about  ten  inches  long  and  about 
eight  inches  around  and  was  smooth,  pink  and  very  pretty. 
I bought  it  and  the  clerk  wrapped  a piece  of  brown  paper 
around  it  and  I went  out  on  the  steps  to  eat  while  waiting 
for  grandfather  to  finish  his  shopping.  A goat  came  up  just 
as  I seated  myself,  sprang  at  me  and  grabbed  the  brown 
paper.  I held  on  tightly  and  screamed  for  help,  hugging 
the  loaf  so  closely  that  it  was  crushed  and  made  just  one 
little  handful  of  pink  sugar.  It  was  nearly  all  wind.  The 
other  five  cents  I put  into  my  mouth  for  safe-keeping  and 
swallowed  it.  I was  inconsolable,  and  cried  myself  to  sleep 
that  night  at  the  loss  of  my  first  money. 

Grandfather  helped  to  build  the  first  church  for  Negroes 
in  Summit.  Being  one  of  the  founders  and  having  a little 
education  he  was  so  anxious  to  have  us  taught  that  he  gave 
the  use  of  the  church  to  a northern  missionary  to  open  the 
first  school  for  colored  children.  I shall  never  forget  my 
first  day  in  school.  There  were  about  twenty  children 
seated  on  four  long,  rough,  backless  benches.  I was  in  the 


INTRODUCTION 


11 


front  row.  Grandfather  had  given  me  his  precious  old  blue- 
back  speller.  Noticing  I was  the  only  one  that  had  a book, 
I felt  sorry  for  the  other  children  and  divided  my  book  with 
them  by  tearing  out  leaves  and  passing  one  to  each  child. 
Meanwhile  the  teacher  was  unfolding  a large  cloth  chart 
having  the  alphabet,  which  attracted  my  attention.  Then 
our  work  began  in  earnest. 

In  the  churchyard  nearby  slept  a silent  congregation 
in  which  nearly  every  home  in  the  church  was  represented, 
pieces  of  plank  marking  the  grave  of  some  departed  loved 
one.  How  I loved  the  big  meeting  days,  when  on  the  first 
Sunday  of  the  month  people  came  from  one  to  thirty  miles 
to  hear  the  gospel  from  some  poor,  earnest,  struggling  black 
preacher.  We  children  sat  on  the  floor  around  the  altar,  glad 
to  be  there,  sometimes  falling  asleep  and  bumping  our 
heads.  When  preaching  was  over  we  would  eat  dinner  that 
had  been  prepared  on  Saturday,  water  our  stock  and  start 
for  home.  As  we  only  lived  two  miles  from  church  my 
grandparents  walked,  Brother  Eugene  and  I ran  on  in  front 
through  the  woods  taking  off  our  shoes  and  wading  through 
the  creek  while  the  old  folks  walked  the  log  further  down. 
Our  parents  were  very  poor.  We  had  to  go  barefoot  all 
the  summer  so  as  to  save  our  shoes  for  winter.  They  were 
russets  with  brass  tips  ,and  brother  and  I would  try  to  see 
which  could  shine  those  tips  the  brightest.  Then  when  all 
work  was  done  we  rushed  away  to  the  clay  pile  to  make 
mud  pies,  men,  houses,  etc.  Sometimes  Grandfather  came 
out.  and  while  watching  us  made  some  useful  suggestions, 
that  we  always  prized.  We  had  no  toys  and  sometimes 
amused  ourselves  catching  butterflies.  Grandfather  would 
tell  us  the  names  of  the  pretty  colors  on  their  wings,  then 
we  would  let  them  go;  often  I watched  them  as  far  as  I 
could,  then,  would  ask  where  they  had  gone,  was  there 
another  town  like  ours?  He  would  answer  yes,  and  tell  of 
the  large  city  far  away  where  he  hoped  to  go  some  day. 

His  hopes  were  realized  sooner  than  he  expected.  My 
oldest  uncle  lived  on  a plantation  with  his  wife  and  two 
children.  The  overseer  had  ordered  my  uncle’s  wife  to 
come  to  his  room  while  uncle  was  away.  When  he  returned 
he  took  his  gun  and  killed  the  overseer,  and  this  made  my 
uncle  a fugitive  from  his  town.  Grandfather  was  so  trou- 


12 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


bled  by  this  he  could  not  live  in  peace  at  his  home.  I was 
eight  years  old  and  brother  was  ten  when  they  moved  to 
the  city  of  New  Orleans  and  sent  us  to  a private  school  near 
our  home.  Four  years  later  found  me  in  the  fourth  grade 
in  Mrs.  Ludwig’s  room  in  the  public  school  on  Clio  street, 
near  Prytania.  My  grandparents  both  died  leaving  us 
with  mother,  who  had  married  a sailor.  She  moved  down- 
town and  sent  me  to  Straight  University  a while.  My  step- 
father died  and  mother  had  to  take  me  from  school.  Brother 
and  I had  to  help  her  earn  money  to  support  the  other  three 
children.  My  heart  ached  and  many  nights  my  pillow  was 
wet  with  tears  because  I could  not  finish  school.  I loved 
poetry  and  every  spare  penny  I got  went  for  books  which 
I read  at  night.  Our  lot  was  hard  but  when  brother  told  me 
confidentially  that  he  was  tired  of  working  for  $10.00  per 
month  and  had  decided  to  run  away  and  accept  a place  as 
cook  on  an  Illinois  Central  freight  train,  my  cup  of  sorrow 
was  full  to  overflowing. 

When  a month  had  passed  he  wrote  to  mother  begging 
her  pardon  and  sending  her  his  first  month’s  wages.  He 
sent  her  the  rent  regularly  every  month  until  she  died 
twenty  years  later.  Only  his  color  has  prevented  his  rising 
to  a higher  position  than  charge  of  the  president’s  private 
car,  for  he  is  loved  and  respected  by  all  the  railroad  officials. 

In  my  seventeenth  year  I had  many  suitors.  I was 
wed  and  lived  happily  with  my  husband  for  ten  years,  when 
drink,  the  curse  of  America,  gained  a hold  on  him  and  de- 
stroyed our  happiness  and  made  a legal  separation  neces- 
sary. It  was  then  the  Lord  called  me  to  the  mission  field, 
and  in  trying  to  cheer  the  broken-hearted  I forgot  my  own 
troubles.  Three  children  were  to  be  educated  and  God 
helped  me  wonderfully  to  provide  for  them. 


WHY  I BEGAN 


13 


CHAPTER  I. 

HOW  AND  WHY  I BEGAN  PRISON  REFORM  WORK 
IN  NEW  ORLEANS. 

I AM  asked  to  write  of  my  prison  work,  and  how  I came 
to  engage  in  it.  One  never-to-be-forgotten  Saturday 
morning  in  March,  1894,  while  on  my  way  to  see  a 
sick  member  of  the  old  historic  St.  James  Church,  of  which 
I am  a communicant,  I had  to  pass  the  depot  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi Valley  Railroad.  The  train  was  all  coupled  and 
ready  to  start.  Just  then  an  old  woman,  sobbing  bitterly, 
passed  me,  and  as  sight  of  tears  always  moves  me,  I drew 
near  and  asked  if  I could  help  her.  She  shook  her  head  and 
replied,  “No,  my  child,  it  is  too  late.  My  only  son  is  in 
that  gang  going  to  the  State  Prison.” 

I looked  in  the  direction  she  pointed,  and  saw  about 
twenty  colored  men  and  four  women  being  pushed  aboard 
the  waiting  train.  The  whistle  blew,  the  engine  pulled  out 
with  its  load  of  human  freight,  some  to  serve  for  six  months, 
some  for  twenty  years,  and  some  never  to  return.  The  poor 
old  lone  mother  by  my  side  tottered  beneath  her  burden  of 
grief,  and  might  have  fallen  had  I not  held  her  by  the  arm 
until  she  could  control  herself. 

I persuaded  her  to  return  to  her  home,  which  she  said 
was  just  five  squares  away;  and  as  I walked  by  her  side, 
she  told  me  her  son  had  been  charged  with  breaking  into  a 
store  at  night  and  stealing  goods  amounting  to  eighty  dol- 
lars. He  was  arrested,  convicted  and  sentenced  to  five 
years  at  hard  labor  in  the  State  Prison  at  Baton  Rouge. 

I consoled  her  as  best  I could,  and  I left  her  in  her 
sorrow.  That  evening  when  I picked  up  the  paper,  the  first 
thing  I saw  was  the  glaring  headlines,  “Twenty-four  Ne- 
groes sent  to  the  Pen !”  Then  followed  a long  list  of  names, 
the  crimes  committed  and  the  length  of  time  to  serve. 

I felt  that  something  ought  to  be  done  to  stop  this 
march  to  the  prisons.  That  night,  as  I knelt  by  my  bed 
to  ask  God  to  comfort  that  aged  mother  whose  only  sup- 
port was  locked  behind  prison  walls,  it  seemed  some  one 
was  whispering  to  me,  “You  must  go  to  the  prison  and  ask 
the  prisoners  to  pray  that  God  will  help  them  to  resist 
temptation;  and  tell  them  to  pledge  themselves  never  to 


14 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


do  anything  to  bring  them  back  to  the  prison  when  they 
get  out  of  their  present  trouble.” 

I became  frightened  and  tried  to  banish  the  thought. 
The  next  morning,  Sunday,  I went  to  Sabbath  School, 
taught  my  class  and  remained  over  for  church  service.  The 
pastor  read  for  the  lesson,  St.  Matthew,  xxv  chapter,  begin- 
ning with  the  31st  verse.  As  I listened  I became  more  im- 
pressed that  I must  take  up  this  work;  and  as  we  knelt  to 
pray,  I promised  God  if  He  would  open  the  way  I would 
strive  to  do  His  bidding.  I saw  the  Christians  sitting  in  the 
church  waiting  for  sinners  to  come  in  to  be  prayed  for,  but 
few  came.  Then  I realized  what  my  Master  meant  when 
He  said  that  we  must  go  into  the  highways  and  hedges,  and 
compel  them  to  come  by  our  kindly  reasoning  and  Christian 
example. 

Mionday  morning,  the  feeling  was  still  stronger  upon 
me  to  go  to  the  prison  and  try  to  stop  that  great  host  march- 
ing to  degradation.  I asked  several  persons  to  go  with  me, 
but  no  one  would  go;  however,  I secured  permission  from 
the  Mayor  to  visit  the  jails. 

On  Wednesday  I was  still  determined.  While  ponder- 
ing how  best  to  proceed,  a knock  came  at  my  gate.  I hast- 
ened to  see  who  was  there.  A man  stood  before  me  begging 
me  to  help  him.  He  said  that  he  was  a minister,  and  had 
come  from  Mississippi  to  see  an  only  son  who  was  arrested 
for  larceny.  He  felt  that  his  son  was  innocent  but  he  did 
not  have  money  to  employ  a lawyer.  He  had  seen  me, 
knew  I was  a member  of  the  King’s  Daughters,  and  thought 
I might  aid  him.  He  had  asked  some  of  the  ministers  for 
help  but  had  not  received  enough.  I told  him  I would  do 
what  I could,  and  asked  him  to  meet  me  at  the  prison  gate 
that  day  at  one  o’clock.  He  was  there  and  the  sheriff 
allowed  us  to  pass  in.  After  I had  been  shown  over  the 
prison  and  talked  with  the  minister’s  son,  I asked  to  be 
allowed  to  hold  prayer-meetings  once  a week  in  the  halls 
leading  to  the  cells.  They  consented,  and  on  Friday  of  the 
same  week  I succeeded  in  getting  the  same  minister  to  as- 
sist me  in  this  meeting.  We  heard  that  a man  by  the  name 
of  James  Murray  alias  “Greasy  Jim,”  was  on  the  first  floor  in 
one  of  the  cells,  charged  with  murder.  He  had  been  found 
guilty,  sentenced  to  be  hanged,  and  was  awaiting  the  Gover- 
nor’s signature  to  his  death-warrant.  There  were  also  con- 


THE  PARISH  PRISON. 


WHY  I BEGAN 


15 


fined  in  cells  nearby  Frank  Fuller,  who  had  killed  his  wife, 
and  James  Washington,  who  had  killed  his  brother-in-law. 

As  the  deputy  sheriff  unlocked  the  cell  doors  and  let  the 
men  out  into  the  hall  where  we  were  locked  in,  the  prison- 
ers not  knowing  us,  eyed  us  with  suspicion.  I held  out  my 
hand  to  Murray,  and  shook  hands  with  him  as  the  sheriff 
introduced  us.  I told  him  we  had  come  to  cheer  and  help 
him,  and  recommend  to  him  a Friend  who  was  his  only  hope 
now.  He  smiled  and  said,  “This  is  new  to  me,  I’ve  never 
had  anyone  to  visit  me  and  pray  with  me  before,  and  I’ve 
been  in  many  prisons  ; but  it’s  too  late  now.  If  some  Chris- 
tian had  come  into  my  cell  in  Mississippi,  where  I was  ar- 
rested for  the  first  time,  and  talked  with  me  as  you  are 
talking,  I might  not  be  here  to-day.  I had  no  one  when 
I was  young  'to  urge  me  to  attend  church,  and  when  I grew 
to  manhood  I never  thought  of  it.” 

“Well,”  I said,  “it  is  not  too  late.  If  you  are  sorry  for  ' 
what  you  have  done,  and  ask  God  to  forgive  you,  He  will, 
and  He  will  give  you  rest  from  your  care  and  sorrow.” 

He  replied,  “You  may  sing  and  pray,  but  I don’t  know 
that  it  will  do  me  any  good.” 

Accordingly,  I sang  that  good  old  hymn,  “Come  ye 
sinners,  poor  and  needy,”  and  knelt  to  pray.  Murray  stood 
up  a while,  but  when  the  prayer  was  half  finished,  he  knelt 
on  the  stone  floor  at  my  side  and  groaned,  “It  is  too  late 
then  the  sobs  shook  his  frame,  and  tears  flowed  down  his 
cheeks.  When  we  arose,  he  failed  to  get  up.  Another 
hymn  was  sung,  “Lord  Jesus,  I long  to  be  perfectly  whole.” 
Tears  were  still  falling  on  the  floor  while  the  minister 
prayed.  Frank  Fuller  arose  to  his  feet  and  said,  “I  feel  my 
sins  forgiven ; praise  God.” 

Then  the  jailer,  while  we  were  singing  “Jesus  Lover 
of  my  Soul,  “took  my  hand,  shook  it  and  said,  “Pray  for 
me.”  His  face  was  wet  with  tears.  Shortly  after  that  a 
crazy  prisoner  killed  him,  but  the  prisoners  all  said  that 
from  that  day  he  was  a dhanged  man  and  they  seemed  sorry 
at  his  death. 

After  the  first  week  I could  get  no  one  to  accompany 
me  to  the  prison,  so  I went  alone  and  held  my  second  prayer- 
meeting. I found  Murray  anxiously  waiting  for  me  to  help 
him  with  my  prayers  and  hymns.  He  said  he  had  not  eaten 
anything  that  day,  and  felt  heart-sore  and  burdened. 


16 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


After  I had  read  the  third  chapter  of  John  and  explained  it 
as  best  I could,  we  knelt  in  prayer,  and  on  arising,  I sang 
with  all  my  soul : 

“When  peace,  like  a river,  attendeth  my  way, 

When  sorrows  like  billows  roll, 

Whatever  my  lot,  thou  hast  taught  me  to  say, 

‘It  is  well,  it  is  well  with  my  soul.’  ” 

I asked  him  to  help  me  sing  the  chorus ; he  tried,  and 
as  he  sang  louder  and  louder,  his  face  seemed  to  shine  more 
and  more,  until  he  grasped  my  hand,  shook  it  with  emotion, 
an'd  said,  “Praise  the  Lord,  Oh  my  soul ! It  is  well,  it  is 
well  with  my  soul.”  After  talking  with  him  for  some  time, 
I left  him  rejoicing. 

Two  weeks  later  with  Mrs.  M.  A.  Marshall,  who  agreed 
to  accompany  me  whenever  she  could,  I went  to  hold  the 
weekly  prayer  meeting.  We  had  been  in  the  prison  about 
an  hour,  singing  and  praying,  when  we  were  called  to  the 
cell  door  by  the  sheriff  and  asked  to  stand  by  Murray  while 
the  death-warrant  was  being  read  to  him.  We  agreed.  He 
was  called,  and  came  and  stood  between  us  while  the  jury 
filed  in ; then  calmly  folding  his  arms,  he  stood  and  listened 
with  a smile  to  the  terrible  words,  “That  he  was  to  be 
hanged  by  the  neck  till  he  was  dead.”  He  took  it  as  coolly 
as  if  it  were  an  invitation  to  a dinner.  At  the  conclusion 
we  led  the  way  to  the  condemned  cell.  He  smiled  when 
we  parted,  and  we  asked  God  to  give  him  courage  to  go 
through  the  ordeal  that  awaited  him. 

Two  weeks  later  we  went  to  pay  him  the  last  visit 
and  waited  for  him  in  the  prison  chapel.  The  gallows  had 
been  erected  three  days  previous  to  this.  The  minister  who 
was  to  attend  him  was  also  in  waiting  in  the  chapel  with 
us.  Soon  we  heard  the  slow  and  steady  tramp  of  the  dep- 
uties descending  the  stairs  with  the  unfortunate  man.  As 
they  entered  the  chapel  we  sang: 

“Saviour,  more  than  life  to  me, 

I am  clinging,  clinging  close  to  Thee.’’ 

The  minister  read  and  we  sang:  “Nearer  my  God  to  Thee.” 

Murray  then  shook  my  hand  and  asked  God’s  blessing 
upon  me  for  leading  him  to  a hope  in  Christ.  After  singing, 
as  well  as  emotion  would  allow  us,  “God  be  with  you  till 
we  meet  again, ”1  took  my  leave.  On  reaching  the  door,  I 
turned  to  look  back;  there  stood  Murray  still  smiling  and 


WHY  I BEGAN 


17 


waving  farewell.  Twenty  minutes  later  he  was  dead. 

During  the  eight  years  of  my  prison  work,  over  five 
hundred  souls  were  converted  to  Christ.  One  of  these  is 
now  a local  preacher.  Eleven  hundred  more  pledged  them- 
selves to  lead  better  lives. 

During  that  time  I witnessed  many  sad  scenes.  I 
have  seen  young  women  so  drunk  that  they  could  not  stand, 
brought  in  and  thrown  into  a cell  to  sober  up. 

Many  of  our  people  refuse  to  listen,  or  come  to  church, 
where  they  may  be  persuaded  to  become  Christians  them- 
selves, and  leave  off  the  frivolities  that  assist  in  dragging 
them  down ; but  when  they  find  themselves  in  prison  for 
the  first  time,  they  are  filled  with  shame  and  remorse.  I 
have  seen  such  persons  shed  bitter  tears  as  they  were  locked 
in.  I have  gone  to  them  and  urged  them  to  repent  of  their 
sins,  and  to  resolve  to  live  better  lives ; that  if  they  have 
fallen  by  the  wayside  to  get  up  out  of  the  “Slough  of 
Despond”  and  begin  to  do  right ; if  they  have  made  a mis- 
take, others  have  also,  and  that  they  need  not  continue  in 
that  course.  I have  told  them  that  some  one  they  least 
think  of  is  watching  them,  perhaps  some  little  brother  or 
sister  is  going  to  pattern  after  them.  Such  talks,  I have 
found,  always  help,  and  many  have  pledged  their  word  to 
me  on  bended  knees;  for  when  they  are  in  prison  they  have 
few  friends,  no  money,  but  plenty  of  time  to  think.  This  is 
the  Christian’s  opportunity  to  visit  the  prisoner  and  recom- 
mend a “Friend  that  sticket'h  closer  than  a brother.”  Nine 
times  out  of  ten  he  will  accept  Jesus  and  leave  the  prison 
a Christian,  often  joining  some  church  at  once. 

In  many  churches  in  New  Orleans  I see  some  face  I 
have  met  in  prison,  some  one  with  whom  I have  pleaded, 
some  one  whose  pledge  I have  taken.  My  work  has  not 
stopped  here.  I have  gone  to  the  judge  and  pleaded  for 
leniency.  Some  have  had  their  sentences  set  aside,  some 
have  been  kept  from  going  to  the  State  Prison,  having  their 
time  spent  in  the  city  where  they  are  better  treated,  and 
where  their  friends  can  come  to  see  them.  Then  these  visits 
to  the  prison  cause  the  deputies  to  treat  the  prisoners  better, 
for  the  fear  of  being  reported  to  higher  officials  has  great 
force.  I have  had  this  to  do  more  than  once. 

Wardens  and  jailers  become  callous  through  seeing  so 
much  misery,  and  are  apt  to  consider  a man  guilty  because 


18 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


he  is  a prisoner,  and  being  guilty,  in  their  opinion,  he  loses 
all  claim  to  kind  treatment.  This  is  the  tendency,  although 
there  are  many  noble  exceptions.  I tell  them  that  a man 
does  not  lose  his  humanity  because  he  is  a prisoner,  that 
he  still  has  rights  which  the  deputies  should  respect. 

With  the  assistance  of  the  Prison  Reform  Association, 
I was  able  to  reduce  the  number  of  inmates  I found  in  t'he 
Parish  Prison  in  New  Orleans,  when  I began  this  work. 
There  is  a chronic  class  of  prisoners,  white  and  colored,  who 
are  out  one  week  and  in  the  next.  Some  deem  this  class 
hopeless,  but  I believe  there  is  some  good  in  all,  and  as  long 
as  there  is  life  there  is  hope. 

The  paris'h  officials  do  not  furnish  clothing  for  the 
prisoners,  therefore  something  had  to  be  done  to  hide  their 
person,  so  I went  out  and  begged  for  shoes  and  clothing  to 
help  them.  A man  who  had  been  in  prison  four  months 
was  obliged  to  remain  in  bed  three  days,  because  his  clothes 
had  fallen  to  pieces.  Had  I not  provided  clothes  in  this 
case,  he  would  have  been  unable  to  attend  his  trial. 

I have  yet  to  speak  of  the  worst  thing  of  all.  Little 
boys  of  all  sizes  were  placed  in  the  yard  with  men  who  had 
committed  almost  every  crime  on  the  calendar,  and  they 
were  kept  with  these  men  four  or  five  weeks  before  they 
were  tried.  If  guilty  they  were  sent  to  the  Boys’  House  of 
Refuge.  If  innocent,  they  were  of  course,  released ; but  in 
either  event  they  are  sure  to  have  overheard  many  things 
in  this  school  of  crime  furnished  by  the  city  that  would 
have  been  best  unheard. 

I registered  a vow,  God  being  my  helper,  to  bring  about 
a better  condition  of  affairs  to  save  these  helpless  children, 
by  building  a home  for  them,  and  to  have  them  committed 
to  my  care. 

Now  a word  about  the  criminals.  The  Negro  has  few 
friends  when  prosperous,  he  has  still  fewer  when  in  trouble. 
When  I began  pleading  with  the  judges  to  deal  as  leniently 
with  the  black  man  as  with  the  white,  they  were  astonished 
at  the  interest  I took  in  these  friendless  ones  and  seemed  to 
be  of  the  opinion  that  they  were  my  relatives  or  friends,  or 
that  I was  being  paid  a salary  or  receiving  compensation 
from  some  source.  They  were  greatly  amazed  when  I told 
them  I did  not  expect  any  reward  here  on  earth  but  was 
simply  doing  what  I thought  would  please  my  Maker.  I 


WHY  I BEGAN 


19 


supported  myself  by  sewing  and  when  I lost  a whole  day  to 
assist  some  one  to  get  his  freedom  I must  sew  part  of  the 
night  to  make  up  lost  time.  The  prisoners  themselves  very 
often  forgot  to  thank  me  when  they  got  out.  They  soon 
forget  that  they  owed  their  liberty  to  my  efforts,  and  that 
they  promised  to  pay  at  least  my  carfare  for  securing  them 
counsel  and  finding  their  friends.  But  this  did  not  stop  me. 
I believed  I was  pleasing  God  and  that  He  will  bless  me 
for  whatever  I am  permitted  to  do  for  suffering  humanity. 

I recall  one  day  some  years  ago,  when  I had  been  out 
the  whole  day  trying  to  get  favorable  evidence  to  keep  a 
woman  from  the  State  Prison,  I found  myself  two  miles 
from  home,  footsore  and  hungry,  without  a nickel  in  my 
purse  to  pay  carfare.  I had  to  walk  home  and  naturally  my 
thoughts  were  gloomy.  I asked  myself  the  question,  “How 
long  can  I go  on  in  this  way  without  financial  aid?”  which 
I was  ashamed  to  ask.  I felt  I must  give  up  the  work. 
These  lines  came  to  me,  penned  by  one  who  knew : 

THE  BURDEN. 

By  Lucy  Rider  Meyer. 

“O  God,’’  I cried,  “Why  may  I not  forget? 

These  halt  and  hurt  in  life’s  hard  battle  throng  me  yet. 

Am  I their  keeper?  Only  I?  To  bear 
This  constant  burden  of  their  grief  and  care? 

Why  must  I suffer  for  the  others’  sin? 

Would  God  my  eyes  had  never  opened  been  !” 

And  the  thorn-crowned  and  patient  One 
Replied,  “They  thronged  me,  too ; I too  have  seen.” 

“Thy  other  children  go  at  will,”  I said,  protesting  still ; 
“They  go  unheeding,  but  these  sick  and  sad. 

These  blind  and  orphan,  yea,  and  those  that  sin 
Drag  at  my  heart.  For  them  I serve  and  groan. 

Why  is  it?  Let  me  rest,  Lord,  I have  tried” — 

He  turned  and  looked  at  me,  “But  I have  died.” 

“But  Lord,  this  ceaseless  travail  of  my  soul ! 

This  stress  ! This  often  fruitless  toil  these  souls  to  win ! 
They  are  not  mine.  I brought  not  forth  this  host 
Of  needy  creatures,  struggling,  tempest  tossed — they  are 
not  mine.” 


20 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


He  looked  at  them — the  look  of  one  divine; 

He  turned  and  looked  at  me.  “But  they  are  mine.’’ 

“O  God,”  I said,  “I  understood  at  last. 

Forgive ! And  henceforth  I will  bond-slave  be 
To  thy  least,  weakest,  vilest  ones ; 

I would  not  more  be  free.” 

He  smiled  and  said,  “It  is  to  me.” 

Just  then  a man  stopped  in  front  of  me,  and  grasping 
my  hand,  shook  it,  saying,  “Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Joseph,  but  I 
must  speak  to  you ; I suppose  you  have  forgotten  me.” 

“Yes,”  I replied. 

“A  year  ago,”  he  said,  “I  was  in  prison  and  you  begged 
me  to  lead  a better  life.  I promised  you  that  I would.  I 
am  now  converted  to  Christ  and  am  glad  you  made  me 
promise.  I hope  you  will  continue  your  visits  to  the  prison 
as  there  are  many  like  myself  who  need  to  be  advised. 
Then  again,  the  deputies  treat  them  better  when  you  are 
around.” 

I told  him  I was  glad  I had  helped  him.  As  I passed 
on,  I said  to  myself,  “I  can’t  give  up  this  work;  I must  con- 
tinue, help  or  no  help.’’  The  judges  were  kind,  treating  me 
with  every  courtesy.  The  Mayor,  the  district  attorney,  the 
sheriff,  the  captain,  the  deputies,  the  newspapers,  all  were 
kind  and  patient,  ever  willing  to  give  me  a hearing.  I have 
a few  critics  among  my  own  race,  who  have  tried  to  dis- 
courage me  by  saying  it  is  not  a woman’s  place  to  visit 
prisons  and  courts;  but,  as  St.  Paul  says,  “None  of  these 
things  move  me,”  for  I love  my  people.  I am  trying  to  lift 
fallen  humanity,  to  raise  the  moral  standard  higher,  and 
above  all,  to  please  God. 

At  my  request,  the  authorities  set  aside  the  third  Sun- 
day in  each  month  for  the  colored  ministers  to  preach  in 
the  prisons,  but  it  was  not  always  easy  to  get  them,  so  I 
usually  spoke  to  them  myself.  The  prisoners  were  very 
eager  to  get  books  and  newspapers,  hundreds  of  which  I 
begged  for  them,  but  the  supply  was  seldom  sufficient  to 
go  around. 

Devoutly  believing  that  God  had  given  me  this  work 
to  do,  I was  content  to  labor  on,  looking  to  the  time  when 
my  labor  should  cease,  the  fruit  be  seen,  and  the  reward 
given. 


TRUTH  STRANGER  THAN  FICTION 


21 


CHAPTER  II. 

“TRUTH  STRANGER  THAN  FICTION.” 

Not  a few  have  been  accused,  arrested  and  suffered 
imprisonment  for  crimes  of  which  they  knew  absolutely 
nothing.  It  is  true,  according  to  our  state  laws,  every 
accused  person  is  innocent  until  the  state  can  prove  him 
guilty.  In  very  many  cases,  the  individual  though  innocent 
is  utterly  unable  to  prove  himself  guiltless.  As  for  instance, 
a man  in  the  late  hours  of  the  night,  passing  a dwelling 
house  that  had  twenty  minutes  before  been  burglarized,  is 
arrested,  charged  with  the  crime  and  put  into  prison. 
Though  innocent,  the  evidence  points  strongly  to  him.  He 
cannot  prove  that  he  did  not  enter  the  house,  and  being  a 
stranger  in  the  community,  no  one  can  vouch  for  him.  He 
is  given  little  time  for  communication  with  relatives  or 
friends,  and  being  penniless,  he  is  convicted  and  sentenced 
to  the  State  Prison.  Thousands  have  been  convicted  on 
what  is  known  as  circumstantial  evidence,  and  hundreds 
have  been  as  innocent  of  the  crime  of  which  they  are  charged 
as  you  who  read  these  pages.  If  you  had  good  reasons  to 
believe  a prisoner  guiltless  and  you  could  get  him  out  of 
his  distress,  would  you  not  do  so? 

Fathers  and  mothers,  you  who  have  sons,  possibly 
daughters,  roaming  the  world  over,  would  you  not  rejoice 
and  be  exceedingly  glad  to  know  that  some  sympathetic 
Christian  person  in  a foreign  land  had  given  your  child  a 
helping  hand?  I do  not  mean  that  guilty  persons  should 
not  suffer  for  their  crimes.  I have  always  contended  that 
the  guilty  should  suffer  in  proportion  to  their  offense,  be  the 
punishment  what  it  may.  But  innocent  or  guilty,  I feel 
that  God  wants  us  to  reach  even  the  prison-bound  and  tell 
them  of  His  wondrous  love ; to  carry  to  them  His  word, 
“That  whosoever  believeth  in  Him  shall  not  perish,  but 
have  everlasting  life that  “Though  their  sins  be  as  scarlet 
He  will  make  them  white  as  snow.” 

A case  comes  to  my  mind  of  a Hebrew,  who  came  from 
Chicago  to  New  Orleans  representing  a clothing  store.  He 
engaged  rooms  at  a hotel.  The  manager  made  a mistake 
as  to  the  arrival  of  this  guest,  so  could  not  accommodate  him 
on  account  of  being  over-crowded.  He  was  piloted  to  a 
fifth-rate  boarding  house,  where  he  met  a confidence  man 


22 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


who  invited  him  on  his  first  night  in  town  to  see  some  of 
the  sights.  He  went  and  saw  more  than  he  wanted  to  see. 
After  a stroll  down  Canal  street,  they  turned  into  Basin 
street  and  entered  a fine  looking  house  where  beautiful 
women  and  wine  made  him  careless  as  to  his  surroundings. 
One  of  the  women  grew  familiar.  He  felt  her  going  through 
his  pockets ; he  drew  away  from  her,  and  took  his  hat  to 
leave,  but  she  held  on.  He  cried  “Police,”  the  woman  cried 
“Police,”  and  he  was  thrown  out  of  the  door  onto  the  side- 
walk. An  officer  hearing  a noise,  came,  arrested  the  inno- 
cent man,  charged  him  with  drunkenness,  disturbing  the 
peace,  and  assault  and  battery.  He  protested,  and  tried  to 
tell  his  side  of  the  story.  The.  woman  had  relieved  him  of 
the  contents  of  his  purse  and  destroyed  the  purse  with  his 
traveling  papers.  There  was  no  evidence  to  hold  the 
woman,  and  his  new  friend  could  not  be  found.  I saw  him 
three  days  after  his  arrest.  He  told  me  his  troubles,  saying, 
“I  can  get  no  one  here  to  carry  a message  for  me,  or  to  give 
me  a stamp,  or  a sheet  of  paper  to  write  my  firm.  In  fact, 
I really  feel  ashamed  to  have  them  know  of  this  trouble, 
but  I must  write.’’  I gave  him  the  stationery  he  required, 
he  wrote  the  letter  and  I mailed  it.  The  answer  came  to 
my  address;  I took  it  to  him,  the  deputy  opened  it  in  my 
presence.  It  contained  a check  for  $200.00,  made  payable  to 
him.  He  was  taken  out  by  a deputy  to  cash  the  check,  had 
his  trial  and  was  discharged  after  having  been  in  prison 
four  weeks.  There  are  hundreds  of  cases  similar  to  this. 

One  morning,  as  I went  out  into  the  yard  where  the 
colored  men  are  kept,  a man  approached  me  asking  that 
I write  a letter  to  his  wife  in  one  of  the  country  parishes.  I 
did  this  for  him.  He  had  been  arrested  and  charged  with 
grand  larceny  by  his  former  employer.  I asked  him  why 
he  had  desired  to  be  a thief.  The  reply  came  in  indignant 
tones:  “Madam,  nothing  is  further  from  my  mind.”  He 
explained,  “I  would  pay  my  employer  if  I had  the  money; 
he  did  not  give  me  the  chance.  I acknowledge  I am  in- 
debted to  him,  not  that  I have  stolen  or  obtained  merchan- 
dise with  any  bad  or  dishonest  intention.  This  he  knows. 
I worked  on  his  farm  for  five  years  at  75  cents  per  day.  I 
received  my  pay  every  two  weeks  in  brass  checks,  which  I 
had  to  spend  at  my  employer’s  store.  The  clerks  generally 
charged  two  prices  more  than  the  village  store.  When 


TRUTH  STRANGER  THAN  FICTION 


23 


winter  came,  although  I received  increased  pay  for  about 
two  months,  and  a half,  I could  not  save  enough  to  keep 
the  wolf  from  the  door,  and  pay  up  my  debts  after  the 
winter  season.  So  to  keep  my  wife  and  three  children  alive, 
I was  compelled  to  make  a bill  at  the  plantation  store.  My 
wife  and  children  were  all  sick  from  time  to  time  during  the 
year,  and  we  got  behind  further  instead  of  catching  up. 
After  five  years  of  hard  struggle  and  no  headway,  I became 
disgusted  and  discouraged.  I went  to  my  employer  to  rea- 
son out  the  case  with  him,  saying  I wanted  to  pay  him,  but 
would  never  be  able  to  do  so  at  the  present  rate ; that  I 
would  leave  my  family  for  a few  weeks,  go  off,  make  some 
money,  pay  him  what  I could  and  remove  my  family;  that 
he  would  know  just  where  I would  be,  and  I would  pay 
him  right  along  until  the  whole  bill  was  settled.  He  seemed 
to  sympathize  with  me  and  consented,  for  he  had  never  had 
any  cause  to  doubt  my  honesty.  Of  course  I wanted  my 
children  to  learn  to  read  and  write.  We  have  only  six 
weeks  public  school  in  the  country  during  the  year  and  no 
money  with  which  to  buy  books.  Accordingly  I came  to 
the  city,  and  soon  found  work,  driving  a float  for  $9.00  per 
week.  I had  not  been  working  two  weeks  when  my  former 
employer  heard  of  this,  came  to  the  city,  and  had  me  ar- 
rested for  obtaining  goods  under  false  pretenses  to  the 
amount  of  $120.00.  I was  tried,  found  guilty  and  sentenced 
to  two  years’  imprisonment  in  the  State  Penitentiary.” 

And  this  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  so  many  Negroes  in 
the  South  are  charged  with  larceny.  Sometimes  they  have 
a little  money  to  pay  a lawyer  to  defend  them.  In  many 
cases  the  lawyer  will  take  the  last  cent  they  have,  and  if 
he  knows  they  have  no  friends  to  look  after  them  he  will 
stay  away  from  court,  the  prisoner  thus  going  to  trial  with- 
out the  lawyer  putting  in  his  appearance.  In  such  cases  the 
court  very  often  appoints  a lawyer  to  look  after  a prisoner, 
but  as  I have  said  before,  in  some  instances  these  lawyers 
are  careless  as  they  know  nothing  is  to  be  had  from  the 
prisoner.  I have  had  occasion  time  and  again  to  go  and 
look  up  a lawyer  to  remind  him  of  a poor  prisoner’s  case. 
Of  course  they  never  enjoy  being  reported  to  the  judge, 
but  on  this  point,  indeed,  I am  not  very  delicate. 

There  are  some  kind  and  gentlemanly  attorneys,  how- 
ever, who  have  assisted  me  all  they  could  in  helping  friend- 


24 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


less  prisoners,  though  they  receive  not  a penny  for  the  help 
given. 

One  day  as  I entered  the  colored  prison  department,  I 
was  shown  an  old  white-haired  man  lying  on  the  bare  stones. 
As  I approached  him  I heard  a sob ; then  I saw  he  was  wip- 
ing the  tears  from  his  eyes  with  an  old  rag,  which  had  once 
been  a handkerchief.  I stooped  and  patted  him  on  the 
shoulder,  saying:  “There  now,  don’t  cry,  sit  up,  tell  me  your 
troubles,  perhaps  I can  help  you.”  As  I said  this  I could 
not  prevent  the  tears  coming  to  my  own  eyes.  He  raised 
himself  on  his  elbow,  rubbed  his  dim  eyes  as  if  in  doubt 
that  he  saw  aright,  then  looking  me  over,  said,  “Poor  child, 
what  are  you  in  here  for?”  I smiled  and  replied,  “To  help 
the  friendless.”  The  old  gentleman  brightened  up  and  ex- 
claimed, “Praise  the  Lord,  honey,  do  you  think  you  kin  help 
me  ter  git  out’n  here?”  I said,  “Tell  me  your  trouble  and 
I’ll  see  What  I can  do  for  you.”  He  smiled  then.  I thought 
of  sunshine  through  the  rain  as  I looked  on  that  dear  old 
face,  wrinkled  with  the  cares  of  many  years.  It  was  then 
that  he  related  to  me  how  he  got  in  prison. 

“I  was  taken  quite  sick  in  de  spring,  and  de  doctor  in 
Bayou  Boeuf  (some  distance  from  the  city)  could  not  break 
de  fever;  so  my  old  marster’s  son,  who  I had  always  been 
living  with,  ’vised  me  ter  come  to  de  city  and  take  treat- 
ment in  de  hospital.  He  put  me  on  de  train  and  when  de 
train  reached  de  city  de  wagin  come  and  tuck  me  to  de 
Charity  Hospital.  I was  kept  there  five  weeks,  den  dey  said 
I could  go  home.  No  letter  come  from  young  marster,  and 
I had  no  money  ter  go  home.  I had  fifteen  cents  one  Ger- 
man give  me,  so  I buys  a loaf  er  bread  and  er  piece  er  ham 
for  ten  cents  and  den  I had  five  cents  ter  cross  de  ferry  in 
Algiers.  I gits  on  de  track  ter  walk  home.  When  I walk 
bout  a mile  de  policeman  comes  up  ter  me,  and  tells  me  ter 
git  off  out’n  de  track,  kase  I’m  in  de  way  of  de  kai'S.  I tell 
him  de  kars  ain’t  in  my  way  and  keep  right  on  walking  ter 
Bayou  Boeuf.  He  kotch  up  wid  me,  say  he’s  gwine  ter 
’rest  me.  I ax  him  what  fer,  he  says  kase  you  will  walk 
on  de  track.  I tell  him  I ain’t  gwine  ter  hurt  de  track.  He 
say  I know  dat,  but  de  engine  will  hurt  you  ’fore  you  have 
time  ter  git  out’n  de  way,  um  gwine  ter  lock  yer  up.  I beg 
him  fer  ter  let  me  go,  but  no  use.  He  fetch  me  fore  de 
judge,  de  judge  say,  ‘Whar  do  you  live,  old  man?’  I say, 


TRUTH  STRANGER  THAN  FICTION 


25 


‘Bayou  Boeuf  and  I want  ter  go  thar’.  The  judge  say  ‘How’s 
yer  gwine  ter  git  thar?’  I say,  ‘Walk.’  He  shuck  his  head 
and  say,  ‘You  too  ole,  ole  man,  I sen  yer  ter  de  parish  prison 
fer  thirty  days.’  Den  dey  fotch  me  in  here,  chile;  it’s  just 
like  breakin’  my  heart,  kase  I know  I been  ’spectable  all 
my  life  and  never  was  in  jail  ’fore  dis,  den  ter  see  I am  put 
in  jail  kase  um  poor  and  fer  trying  ter  walk  home.” 

The  old  gentleman  broke  down  here  and  began  to  weep 
bitterly.  He  said  he  was  nearly  ninety  years  old,  surely  he 
didn’t  look  a day  younger.  I tried  to  comfort  him  all  I 
could.  I left  the  prison,  crossed  the  river  on  the  ferry, 
walked  two  squares  and  reached  the  court  building,  where 
I found  the  judge,  who  said  there  was  nothing  else  to  do  but 
send  the  old  gentleman  where  he  did;  but  if  I could  find  a 
place  for  him  to  stay  he  would  give  me  a release  for  him. 
I thanked  him,  went  back  to  the  city,  to  the  Old  Folks’ 
Home.  They  would  not  receive  him  there  unless  I agreed 
to  pay  a certain  amount  of  money  every  month.  This  I 
could  not  do,  yet  I had  given  my  word  as  a Christian.  I 
must  try  my  best  to  get  him  out,  but  where  to  take  him  I 
knew  not.  I concluded  to  see  the  Mayor  (Mr.  Flower).  I 
soon  reached  the  City  Hall  where  I found  His  Honor,  who 
greeted  me  with  a pleasant  smile  as  he  arose  and  came 
forward  to  inquire  what  he  could  do  for  me.  I replied.  “A 
good  deal.”  I related  the  story  of  the  old  man  and  my 
dilemma,  and  wound  up  by  asking  if  he  could  not  send  the 
old  man  to  the  Shakespeare  Almshouse  where  the  poor  of 
the  city  are  kept.  He  replied,  “Oh,  if  I might,  Mrs.  Joseph, 
but  I am  afraid  I cannot;  you  know  that  place  is  for  white.” 
“Only  them !’’  I exclaimed,  my  voice  vibrating  with  right- 
eous indignation.  “Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  your  Honor, 
there  is  no  place  in  the  city’s  poor  house  for  an  old  Negro, 
who  has  given  the  best  years  of  his  life  to  enrich  his  white 
masters,  to  build  up  his  country,  and  now  when  he  is  feeble 
and  without  shelter  or  a single  friend,  must  be  cast  off  as 
though  he  were  a dumb  beast !” 

This  noble  gentleman  then  hung  his  head,  saying:  “I 
am  sorry,  but  this  is  true.  I know  'this  is  not  right,  but 
like  many  others,  I don’t  see  how  I can  change  it,  but  I’ll  try 
to  help  you.  I will  tell  you  what  I’ll  do.  I will  give  you  a 
note  to  the  president  of  the  Board.  Go  and  see  him,  have 
a talk  with  him,  possibly  he  will  take  the  old  man  for  you.” 


26 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


Off  I hurried,  six  squares  away  to  see  the  president  of 
the  Board.  He  was  polite,  attentive  and  listened  to  my 
pleadings.  Then  said,  “Well,  it’s  against  the  rules  to  take 
colored  people  in  the  Almshouse,  but  I will  break  this  rule 
to  help  you  out.  Here  is  an  order  to  the  Superintendent 
telling  him  to  admit  the  old  man.”  I thanked  him  for  his 
kindness,  took  the  order,  went  home,  for  it  was  then  too 
late  to  cross  the  river  and  get  the  release.  The  next  day 
was  very  stormy,  so  I was  compelled  to  remain  indoors. 
Friday  dawned  bright  and  clear.  I was  at  the  prison  on 
time  to  see  the  old  man  and  tell  him  I could  remove  him 
that  day;  but  to  my  surprise  the  kind-hearted  Captain  Ful- 
ham informed  me  that  the  old  gentleman  became  quite  ill 
shortly  after  I left  him,  and  that  he  had  sent  him  to  the 
hospital.  I thought  it  best  to  go  to  see  him  before  going 
over  the  river  for  the  release.  Just  as  I turned  the  corner 
from  the  prison  I met  the  porter  in  the  employ  of  the  T.  & 
P.  R.  R.,  whose  acquaintance  I had  formed  on  a recent  trip 
over  that  road.  He  stopped,  shook  hands  with  me  and 
asked:  “Are  you  still  in  the  prison  work?”  “Oh,  yes,’’  I 
answered,  “I  am  on  my  way  now  to  the  hospital  to  see  one 
of  the  prisoners  who  is  being  treated  there.”  “Oh,  I am 
going  there  to  see  someone  myself,  and  if  you  have  no  ob- 
jections, Fll  walk  along  with  you.”  As  we  proceeded  I 
told  him  of  the  old  man  in  whom  I was  interested.  I told 
him  where  he  was  from.  He  said,  “Perhaps  I know  him, 
for  I know  many  people  in  Bayou  Boeuf.  What  is  his 
name?”  I told  him.  He  answered,  “Well,  of  course,  I 
know  the  old  man ; know  him  quite  well.  Fll  take  him  home 
if  you  can  raise  half  of  his  fare.”  I opened  my  purse,  count- 
ed its  contents,  seventy  cents  all  told.  “Well  that  isn’t  half, 
but  Fll  take  it  and  try  to  get  the  old  man  home  if  he  is 
better.”  We  reached  the  hospital  and  were  soon  being  led 
through  the  long  scrupulously  clean  hall  by  a kind,  soft- 
voiced  Sister  of  Charity,  into  the  wards  where  the  colored 
males  are  kept.  We  found  the  old  man  cheerful  and  beg- 
ging to  be  let  out  as  he  was  feeling  well.  I told  the  keeper 
I had  permission  to  take  him  out  and  would  like  to  get  him. 
“Well,  where  is  your  order  given  by  the  judge,”  he  ex- 
claimed. “Oh,  Fll  have  to  go  over  the  river,”  I said,  “to 
the  committing  magistrate  to  get  that,  and  I am  quite  sure 
His  Honor  is  gone  from  the  court  now,  or  will  be  by  the 


TRUTH  STRANGER  THAN  FICTION 


27 


time  I reach  the  court.  I wish  you  would  turn  him  over  to 
me  to-day.  Here  is  my  address,  and  you  may  hold  me  re- 
sponsible.” As  the  warden  knew  me  quite  well  he  took  my 
word  when  I promised  to  take  an  order  to  the  captain  of 
the  prison  in  twelve  hours  from  that  time.  The  old  man 
held  my  hand  and  kissed  it.  We  left  the  ward,  passed 
through  the  yard,  then  out  on  the  sidewalk  where  the  porter 
was  waiting  for  him.  The  old  man  smiled  and  smiled 
again,  then  laughed  outright,  saying,  “Praise  de  Lord  who 
answers  prayer.”  Then  turning  to  me  he  again  kissed'  my 
hand  and  said.  “My  child,  God  bless  you,  honey;  God  bless 
you.  He  is  gwine  ter  pay  yer  sho’s  yer  born.  Keep  on  in 
de  good  works.  I’ll  never  forget  you  as  long  as  I live  and 
I'm  gwine  ter  pray  fer  yer  as  long’s  I live.  I’m  gwine  ter 
pray  fer  yer  tell  I draw  my  last  breff.”  I saw  him  on  the 
train  and  waved  farewell  to  that  dear  old  happy  face. 

I was  far  from  home,  weary  and  penniless.  I had  not 
carfare,  and  there  stood  a car  that  would  take  me  within  one 
square  of  my  home  for  five  cents ; but  I was  content  to  wralk. 
Though  penniless  I was  rich  and  happy,  with  a heart  sing- 
ing for  joy.  Why?  Because  I had  made  that  poor  old  soul 
happy.  I had  done  the  Master’s  will.  I could  hear  His 
voice  whispering,  “Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one 
of  the  least  of  these,  ye  have  done  it  unto  Me.” 

Yes,  my  heart  was  light  and  free.  I had  done  some- 
thing for  Christ.  I walked  the  distance  of  two  miles 
feeling  I was  treading  on  air.  I reached  home  to  find  a 
letter  containing  $5.00  to  help  me  bear  my  burdens.  This 
came  from  Bishop  Holley  of  Port  an  Prince,  Hayti.  He 
had  never  seen  me,  but  read  of  my  work  and  sympathized 
with  me  the  right  way.  He  sent,  also,  words  of  comfort 
and  encouragement;  and  I could  understand  David  the 
Psalmist  more  fully  then — for  the  Lord  made  him  sing, 
“Trust  in  the  Lord  and  do  good,  and  verily  thou  shalt  be 
fed.” 

The  next  day  I went  over  the  river,  secured  the  order 
of  release  from  the  magistrate  for  the  prisoner  who  had 
been  sent  to  the  hospital,  and  from  there  released  on  my 
recommendation.  I thanked  him,  took  the  order  to  Captain 
Fulham  and  felt  relieved.  I then  went  into  the  prison  to 
carry  a few  stamps  and  stationery  to  some  prisoners  whom 
I had  promised  to  help. 


28 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


Having  thus  finished  my  mission  I passed  through  the 
hall  to  see  a poor  old  white  haired  mother,  weeping  as  she 
sat  talking  to  her  son  who  had  been  arrested  the  night  be- 
fore for  stabbing  to  death,  in  a barroom  brawl,  a friend.  As 
I passed  her  she  arose  to  her  feet,  then  seemed  about  to  fall 
when  I caught  her  arm.  I tried  to  comfort  her  by  words 
of  encouragement  as  I led  her  out  of  the  prison.  “Oh,”  she 
said,  “you  don’t  know  the  bitter  pains  my  child  has  caused 
me — my  child  a murderer!”  Her  blue  eyes  were  bathed  in 
tears,  her  lips  were  trembling  with  emotion  as  she  spoke. 
I went  with  this  dear  old  mother  to  the  car  and  helped  her 
on.  Ah,  how  my  heart  ached  for  her ! I sent  up  a prayer 
to  God  to  comfort  her  in  her  distress,  for  I know  a mother’s 
love  for  her  child. 

As  I was  standing  on  the  corner  waiting  for  a car  a 
sweet-faced  girl  of  fourteen  years  approached  me.  I kissed 
her  and  as  I had  stood  by  the  deathbed  of  her  mother  five 
years  before  I felt  anxious  to  know  how  she  was  getting 
on.  With  this  question  she  hung  her  head  and  said:  “I  am 
not  at  home  now,  I ran  away,  as  papa  is  always  drinking 
and  he  is  so  cruel.  When  in  liquor  he  will  take  anything  to 
strike  me  with.”  She  bared  her  arm  and  showed  me  a cut 
just  above  the  elbow,  more  than  two  inches  long.  This  ugly 
wound  had  been  made  by  a knife  her  father  had  thrown  at 
her.  She  said,  in  answer  to  my  question,  “I  am  staying  with 
some  friends  of  mamma’s.”  I went  with  her  to  the  place 
and  found  they  were  very  nice  and  respectable,  though  poor 
people.  After  being  introduced  to  this  family  and  having 
a pleasant  chat  with  them  I bade  them  good-bye,  but  not 
until  I had  given  this  innocent  child  some  good  sound  ad- 
vice. I felt  satisfied,  however,  she  was  in  good  hands. 

A drunken  father,  no  mother  or  near  relatives,  thrown 
upon  the  mercies  of  a cruel  world,  what  little  chance  would 
this  dear  child  have  to  be  good  and  virtuous?  Were  it  not 
for  the  kindly  feelings  of  dear  friends,  what  then ! How 
many  promising  young  lives  thus  placed  have  been  ruined 
and  wrecked ! 


A STRANGER  IN  THE  CITY 


29 


CHAPTER  III. 

A STRANGER  IN  THE  CITY. 

A few  days  later  I received  a letter  from  a white  mother 
in  Alabama,  whose  son  was  in  prison  in  New  Orleans, 
charged  with  being  an  accessory  to  pocket-picking.  She 
begged  me  to  see  him  as  though  he  were  my  own  son  and 
to  help  him  all  I could.  Such  a tender,  touching  letter  full 
of  a mother’s  love ! I could  not  do  otherwise  than  write, 
promising  to  do  all  I could  for  her  boy,  her  fatherless  child. 
I went  to  the  prison  the  next  day  and  had  the  young  man 
called  out  into  the  consulting  room,  and  showed  him  his 
mother’s  letter.  He  read  it,  bowed  his  head,  screened  his 
eyes  with  his  left  hand  while  with  his  right  he  reached  for 
his  handkerchief  to  dry  the  fast  falling  tears.  I said  to  him, 
“Now  come,  tell  me  just  how  you  came  into  this.”  He 
began,  “About  three  weeks  ago  I bade  my  mother  good- 
bye, and  came  to  New  Orleans  to  try  to  set  up  a dental 
office,  as  I thought  in  a large  city  there  was  a better  chance 
than  in  a small  town.  I spent  all  the  money  I had  in  fitting 
up  the  office.  I formed  the  acquaintance  of  two  young  men 
where  I was  rooming.  They  were  pretty  lively,  and  I went 
out  with  them  often.  We  were  all  standing  in  a crowd 
during  the  night  parade  of  the  Carnival,  when  two  ladies 
nearby  cried  out  some  one  had  picked  their  pockets.  They 
pointed  out  the  two  young  men  whom  I was  with ; they 
were  arrested  and  I with  them.  We  were  all  searched  and 
some  articles  found  on  both  of  the  young  men  which  were 
subsequently  identified  by  these  ladies.  I confess  I was 
very  much  surprised,  as  I did  not  think  they  would  do  this. 
Although  nothing  was  found  on  me,  and  they  were  fair 
enough  to  tell  the  officers  I took  no  part  in  the  theft,  yet  I 
was  charged  equally  with  them.  I am  perfectly  innocent, 
madam.  Well,  we  were  given  a preliminary  hearing  and 
sent  to  the  criminal  court.  Now  you  know  it  all.  I have  no 
money  and  my  poor  old  mother,  nearly  eighty  years  old, 
and  whom  I fear  this  will  kill,  has  none.  I have  some  valu- 
able instruments  in  my  office  and — ’’ 

“Never  mind  that,”  I interrupted.  I went  over  to  the 
court  and  asked  to  see  the  papers  of  commitment.  The 
docket  clerks  all  knew  me  and  allowed  me  to  read  the 
charges  and  remarks  by  the  committing  magistrate.  I was 


30 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


satisfied.  I said  to  myself,  “I  believe  my  boy  not  guilty.” 
On  reaching  home  I found  another  letter  from  the  troubled 
mother.  This  letter  contained  $10.00.  She  told  me  she  had 
borrowed  this,  and  to  try  to  do  all  I could  to  get  her  son 
liberated ; again  asked  in  her  absence  that  I be  a mother  to 
him.  Her  husband,  who  was  long  since  dead,  was  once  a 
United  States  Senator.  I took  the  money  and  called  on  a 
first-class  white  lawyer,  told  him  of  the  young  man,  his  par- 
ents, his  aged  mother,  thinking  he  would  sympathize  with 
him  and  take  the  case  cheap,  but  he  wanted  $50,  and  said  he 
would  not  take  the  case  for  less.  I made  up  my  mind  to  get 
all  the  favorable  evidence  I could  from  his  town,  with  his 
mother’s  help.  Having  secured  this,  I took  the  letters  when 
the  trial  came  up  and  went  as  a witness  on  the  stand,  proved 
he  had  a good  character,  was  never  in  prison  before  and  was 
simply  a victim  of  circumstances.  The  district  attorney 
argued  long  and  hard  to  convict  all  three.  The  case  was 
given  to  the  jury,  they  were  out  about  an  hour  when  they 
filed  into  court,  rendered  a verdict  of  guilty  for  two ; but  my 
boy  was  liberated.  I had  the  ten  dollars  his  poor  mother 
sent,  placed  it  in  his  hand  and  told  him  to  go  home  to  his 
dear  old  mother.  He  handed  the  money  back  to  me,  saying 
he  wished  he  could  give  me  fifty  times  as  much.  I wrote 
a long  letter  telling  the  mother  that  her  son  was  free.  In 
the  meantime  he  had  disposed  of  such  instruments  as  he 
could  and  boarded  a train  for  home.  She  wrote  thanking 
me  as  only  a grateful  mother  could.  I was  happy  because 
I had  made  these  happy.  God  helped  him  to  return  to  his 
aged  mother  as  did  the  Prodigal  Son.  Let  this  also  be  a 
caution  to  young  men  as  to  the  company  they  select. 

The  next  week  found  me  again  in  the  prison  yard.  The 
white  prisoners  were  lined  up.  I was  asking  them  the  usual 
question:  “Does  anyone  want  me  to  write  a letter  for  him, 
hunt  up  his  lawyer  or  carry  a message?  If  so,  leave  the 
line.”  Only  one  came  over  to  me.  He  spoke  in  a low  tone, 
saying:  “I  wish  to  speak  to  you  privately.”  “All  right,”  I 
answered,  “come  this  way.’’  The  deputy  sheriff  let  us  into 
the  consulting  room,  and  he  related  his  troubles  to  me  as 
follows:  “Just  two  weeks  ago  I was  married  by  a certain 
judge  at  10  o’clock  a.  m.  I returned  with  my  wife  to  her 
home,  and  left  her  there  with  our  two  friends  who  had 
served  as  witnesses  to  the  marriage.  I went  back  to  the 


A STRANGER  IN  THE  CITY 


31 


judg'e  to  get  information  as  to  how  I might  keep  our  mar- 
riage out  of  the  newspapers  as  my  wife  was  still  wearing 
her  long  mourning  veil  for  her  husband.  He  had  been  dead 
only  five  months,  and  we  had  agreed  to  live  apart  till  she 
had  been  a widow  one  year,  when  we  were  to  live  together 
and  announce  our  wedding.  On  my  return  I passed  a 
saloon.  A female  whom  I had  occasionally  visited  emerged 
from  the  door.  She  sprang  at  me  and  accused  me  of  having 
jilted  her  for  the  wealthy  widow.  She  tore  my  shirt  front 
out,  then  hung  onto  me  as  I vainly  tried  to  free  myself 
from  her.  The  police  came,  arrested  us  both.  I tried  to 
explain,  but  he  would  not  listen  to  me.  He  placed  us  in  the 
patrol  and  drove  off  to  the  prison.  I sent  a note  to  my 
friend,  who  had  served  as  best  man,  asking  him  to  come  to 
me.  He  came  and  I explained  the  case  to  him  and  begged 
him  to  tell  my  wife  how  it  all  happened,  as  I heard  this  trou- 
ble was  published  in  the  evening  papers  and  that  it  was 
stated  that  I had  gone  to  the  woman’s  house  to  fight  her. 
My  friend  promised  he  would  do  as  I asked  him  and  would 
return  to  tell  me  how  my  wife  took  it.  He  did  return  and 
told  me  she  had  sworn  never  to  see  me  again  as  I had  left 
her  before  I had  even  time  to  kiss  her  as  my  wife,  and 
sought  the  company  of  this  vile  creature  which  resulted  in 
a public  scandal  and  newspaper  sensation.  She  said  she 
was  going  to  have  the  marriage  set  aside  and  obtain  a di- 
vorce as  soon  as  possible  without  publicity.  To  make  mat- 
ters worse,  I have  not  the  money  to  pay  my  fine.  I had 
ten  dollars,  but  gave  that  to  the  lawyer.  I gave  all  the 
money  I had,  seventy  dollars,  to  my  wife.  I am  a conductor 
on  one  of  the  railroads  running  out  of  the  city.  I have  no 
friends  here  to  borrow  of,  but  I feel  that  you  can  help  me, 
if  you  will,  and  when  I am  out  of  this  I shall  not  forget 
you.  What  I desire  you  to  do  for  me  is  this : Please  go  and 
see  my  wife  and  talk  to  her.  I think  she  will  hear  you  and 
possibly  pay  my  fine.”  With  this  he  was  crying. 

“Very  well,”  I replied,  “give  me  her  address  and  I'll  go 
and  have  a talk  with  her.”  I went  to  see  the  lady,  notwith- 
standing it  was  after  two  o’clock  and  I had  had  nothing  but 
tea  since  morning  at  six.  Opposite  was  a restaurant,  but 
being  a Negro  the  laws  of  my  state  prevented  my  being 
served.  I boarded  a car.  In  a little  while  I left  it  and  found 
the  house  of  the  widow.  The  house  was  such  an  aristocratic 


32 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


one,  I feared  I had  made  a mistake.  However,  I rang  the 
bell  and  a maid  came  to  the  door,  when  I asked  if  Mrs.  B. 
was  in.  She  answered  “Yes,”  and  I handed  her  my  card. 
She  invited  me  into  the  parlor,  where  her  madam  entered 
holding  my  card  in  her  hand  and  eyeing  me  rather  curiously. 
I arose,  approached  her  asking,  “Are  you  Mrs.  B.?”  “Yes,” 
she  answered.  As  the  maid  was  still  lingering  in  the  parlor 
I inquired,  “May  I see  you  alone,  please?”  She  turned  to 
the  maid  saying,  “You  may  leave  us  now.”  She  bade  me 
be  seated,  asking,  “What  is  your  mission?” 

I began : “A  gentleman  in  prison  requested  me  to  come 
and  see  you.”  Flushing  and  looking  somewhat  excited, 
she  answered,  “Yes,  I know,  and  I do  not  wish  to  hear 
anything  from  him.  I have  received  all  of  his  messages 
through  his  friend.  I am  disappointed  in  him.  No  gentle- 
man would  do  what  he  has  done.  I am  perfectly  decided  in 
the  matter.”  It  developed  during  her  angry  and  hasty  re- 
marks that  she  was  acting  solely  upon  the  advice  and  sug- 
gestion of  the  gentleman  who  had  carried  the  messages,  and 
who  was,  himself,  desperately  in  love  with  Mrs.  B.,  and 
thinking  this  was  his  opportunity,  had  endeavored  to  make 
the  best  of  the  situation. 

I felt  satisfied  that  if  the  friend  of  the  prisoner  were 
true  and  repeated  the  truth  of  the  case,  there  would  be  no 
doubt  as  to  the  bride  sympathizing  with  her  husband  and 
that  she  would  stand  by  him  if  she  loved  him. 

I felt  anxious  to  have  her  know  the  whole  truth,  al- 
though her  rage  was  at  its  highest  pitch  at  that  moment. 
Just  how  to  get  her  to  listen  to  reason  was  the  thing  that 
most  perplexed  me. 

I had  seen  the  prisoner’s  railroad  papers,  also  the  mar- 
riage certificate.  He  was  such  a genteel  looking  man  I saw 
at  once  he  was  respectable  and  such  he  proved  to  be.  He 
had  explained  that  he  did  not  want  the  railroad  officials  to 
know  of  the  trouble  for  fear  of  losing  his  position.  The 
wife  did  not  want  the  other  matter  made  public  either,  for 
she  did  not  want  even  her  relatives  to  know  of  the  mar- 
riage. I said  to  her : “Do  you  not  know  that  you  could  not 
secure  a divorce  without  some  publicity?  Do  you  not  know 
you  would  have  to  prove  yourself  justified  in  suing  for 
divorce?  Do  you  not  love  the  man  whom  you  married? 
Do  you  not  know  there  are  two  sides  to  this  story?  Have 


A VICTIM  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES 


33 


the  newspapers  and  friends  so  taken  possession  of  you  that 
you  refuse  positively  to  hear  your  husband’s  side  of  the 
story?  I believe  from  his  conversation  with  me  that  he 
loves  you,  and  as  a Christian,  I would  ask  you  to  go  to  see 
him.  Would  you  divorce  yourself  from  him  for  a matter 
over  which  he  might  not  have  had  control  at  the  time  being? 
Won’t  you  at  least  pay  his  fine,  which  is  $25.00,  that  he  may 
not  lose  his  position?”  Finally  she  agreed  to  go  to  the 
prison  if  I would  accompany  her,  to  see  him.  At  about 
three  o’clock  p.  nt.  we  reached  the  prison.  I had  the  deputy 
call  the  prisoner  out  into  the  consulting  room,  where  he  and 
his  wife  engaged  in  a private  conversation.  I left  them  to 
their  fate,  thinking  I had  done  well  under  the  circumstances. 

Two  days  later  she  called  to  see  me,  expressed  her 
thankfulness,  showed  her  good  sense  in  taking  my  advice, 
saying  her  husband  loved  her,  and  that  he  was  blameless  for 
the  occurrence;  that  his  fine  had  been  paid,  he  had  been 
liberated  and  had  gone  on  the  road  to  resume  his  work.  At 
the  end  of  one  year,  as  agreed,  their  wedding  was  announced 
and  they  went  to  housekeeping  with  much  joy  and  happi- 
ness. They  both  remembered  me. 

God  is  always  ready  to  bring  peace  out  of  confusion, 
to  make  the  hilly  way  level  and  the  crooked  path  straight. 
I thank  Him  for  having  helped  me  in  bringing  about  this 
peace  and  reconciliation.  There  are  a good  many  more 
criminals  out  of  prison  than  there  are  in,  their  minds  filled 
with  vice. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A VICTIM  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

One  morning  as  I entered  the  yard  for  colored  prison- 
ers I noticed  a little  fellow  of  about  twelve  years  among 
the  male  prisoners.  I called  him  and  asked  him  on  what 
charge  he  had  been  brought  in.  Fie  replied,  “The  peeler 
took  me  in;  I was  with  some  larger  boys  who  had  picked 
up  old  iron  on  the  levee  and  we  are  waiting  to  be  tried.”  I 
took  the  names  of  the  boys,  then  went  to  the  District  At- 
torney and  begged  him  to  have  the  boys  brought  to  trial 
as  soon  as  possible.  They  were  tried  and  discharged  two 
weeks  later  while  I was  at  Baton  Rouge,  La.,  trying  to  get 
evidence  that  would  justify  me  in  applying  for  a commuta- 


34 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


tion  of  sentence  for  a deserving  prisoner  whom  I was 
desirous  of  keeping  from  the  State  Prison. 

One  month  after  the  discharge  of  the  boys  I visited  the 
prison  yard,  and  to  my  sorrow  I espied  Achille  Roberts,  took 
him  to  one  side  and  asked,  “Now,  what  are  you  doing  here 
again?’’  He  hung  his  head  and  said,  “Sister  Joseph,  I prom- 
ised you  not  to  do  anything  to  get  me  back  here.  That  first 
time  I had  done  no  wrong;  I met  ‘Long  Jim’  and  ‘Slickey’ 
in  here  and  their  time  was  up  the  same  day  I got  out.  They 
told  me  to  come  with  them  to  their  home,  that  they  would 
give  me  good  clothes  and  plenty  to  eat.  I had  to  beg  when 
I was  living  with  Aunt  Martha,  so  I thought  I would  go 
with  them.  They  would  sleep  all  day  and  go  out  only  at 
night.  They  would  always  have  a plenty  of  canned  goods 
and  hams  in  their  house.  One  night  they  made  me  go  out 
with  them.  They  went  to  a large  wholesale  grocery  store 
with  a wagon.  They  broke  open  the  transom  and  made 
me  crawl  through  it.  I jumped  down  inside,  unbolted  the 
doors  and  let  them  in.  They  stole  four  sacks  of  coffee,  a 
keg  of  whiskey  and  some  other  things.  We  were  caught  as 
the  wagon  was  going  off.  We  were  all  brought  here  and 
we  are  charged  with  breaking  and  entering  in  the  night 
time.”  As  he  confessed,  the  tears  were  falling  fast  and  I 
felt  I was  guilty  of  the  sin  of  omission,  for  had  I taken 
charge  of  him  that  first  time  I would  have  kept  him  from 
this.  Achille  was  tried  with  the  men.  All  were  sentenced 
to  five  years  of  hard  labor  at  the  State  Prison.  Six  months 
later  I went  to  the  State  Prison  to  try  and  get  the  official 
to  recommend  a pardon  for  this  child.  I found  him  in  the 
prison  hospital  sick  with  pneumonia.  He  recognized  me, 
and  gave  me  his  feeble  hand  saying,  “Sister,  I am  so  glad 
you  have  come.  I have  been  wanting  to  see  you  to  tell  you 
I am  never  to  do  another  wrong  thing.  Now,  won’t  you 
sing  that  hymn  you  used  to  make  us  sing  in  the  prison 
yard?”  I consented  and  sang: 

I need  Thee  every  hour, 

Most  gracious  Lord. 

No  tender  voice  like  Thine 
Can  peace  afford. 

I need  Thee,  O,  I need  Thee, 

Every  hour  I need  Thee ; 


A VICTIM  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES 


35 


0 bless  me  now,  my  Saviour, 

1 come  to  Thee. 

I need  Thee  every  hour, 

Stay  Thou  near  by; 

Temptations  lose  their  power 

When  Thou  art  nigh. 

I need  Thee,  O,  I need  Thee, 

Every  hour  I need  Thee ; 

0 bless  me  now,  my  Saviour, 

1 come  to  Thee. 

I held  his  hand,  then  prayed  for  him.  He  pressed  my 
hand.  I sang  “Jesus  Lover  of  my  Soul,”  and  in  a few  min- 
utes left  him. 

Having  left  a post-card  with  a convalescent  prisoner, 
he  wrote  me  three  days  later  that  Achille  was  dead.  There 
being  no  relatives  to  claim  the  orphan’s  remains,  he  was 
buried  in  an  unmarked  grave.  It  was  well  he  died,  as  living, 
he  might  have  gone  on  with  the  criminals,  made  such  by  the 
state  in  its  school  of  vice. 

Achille  has  passed  from  time  but  not  from  memory. 
Ever  and  anon,  I see  that  pale-faced  child  dying  in  the  prison 
hospital,  friendless,  with  no  earthly  hope — nothing  to  live 
for.  I now  know  what  David,  the  sweet  psalmist  of  Israel, 
felt  when  he  said : “I  wandered  up  and  down  and  no  man 
cared  for  my  soul.’’ 

The  following  letter  was  written  me  by  a white  man, 
telling  me  of  a prisoner  who  was  so  cruelly  treated  that  he 
committed  suicide  to  relieve  himself  of  the  daily  whippings  : 

“Angola,  La.,  August  3.  1902. 

Sister  Frances  Joseph, 

New  Orleans,  La. 

“Dear  Sister — No  doubt  you  will  be  surprised  at  the 
perusal  of  this  letter.  But  believe  me,  dear  Sister,  I write 
this  in  the  name  of  humanity,  knowing  you  to  be  kind  and 
humane  at  all  times  and  in  all  cases  and  to  take  up  a just 
cause.  I am  a white  man  and  notwithstanding  that  I 
thought  it  my  duty  in  the  name  of  the  Almighty  God  and 
in  the  name  of  humanity  that  I should  inform  you  of  some- 
thing that  happened  to  one  of  your  own  color  who  was  a 


36 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


convict  on  Angola  farm.  On  the  morning  of  July  25,  there 
was  a watch  stolen  from  one  of  the  brickmasons  now  at 
work  on  the  farm.  Convict  A.  Masino,  colored,  happened 
to  be  cooking  for  the  masons  on  the  day  above  mentioned 
when  the  watch  was  stolen;  and  of  course,  he  being  a pris- 
oner, was  accused  of  the  theft.  Well,  he  was  ordered  by  the 
manager  of  the  farm,  H.  M.  Rhodes  by  name,  to  be  lashed 
by  the  Captain  in  charge  of  quarters,  B.  Blackmore  by 
name.  Well,  he  was  lashed  that  morning  and  protested  his 
innocence.  Notwithstanding  that,  he  was  lashed  every 
morning  up  to  August  3,  he  still  protesting  his  innocence. 
This  morning,  when  he  was  brought  to  work,  he  was  asked 
where  he  had  put  the  watch  and  he  told  them  that  he  had 
put  it  at  the  landing  by  the  river  side.  When  he  got  by 
himself  he  told  them  he  would  get  the  watch  from  the  water. 
Well,  being  so  frightened  and  threatened  with  another  lash- 
ing, he  jumped  into  the  river  and  committed  suicide,  and 
there  was  no  effort  made  to  save  him.  Having  only  one 
arm  he  was  unable  to  swim  out,  and  at  this  writing,  noon 
time,  August  3,  his  body  still  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi river. 

“Now,  dear  Sister,  I have  told  you  all  I know,  and  all 
I ask  you  is  to  make  an  investigation  of  this,  and  in  the 
name  of  the  Almighty  God,  see  that  justice  is  done  for  the 
sake  of  the  poor  unfortunate  prisoners  on  this  farm,  who 
have  no  show  for  their  lives. 

“I  will  withhold  my  name  for  reasons  best  known  to 
myself.” 

I took  this  matter  up  with  the  proper  authorities  with 
the  following  result : 


BOARD  OF  CONTROL,  STATE  PENITENTIARY 

C.  Harrison  Parker,  R.  N.  Sims  G.  A.  Killgore, 

President.  Treas.  and  Secty. 

(Seal)  Baton  Rouge,  La.,  Aug.  14,  1902. 

Governor  W.  W.  Heard, 

Governor  of  Louisiana. 

Sir — Enclosed  herewith  please  find  copy  of  letter  writ- 
ten by  Warden  Reynaud  giving  fully  the  facts  concerning 


A VICTIM  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES 


37 


the  drowning  of  Prisoner  Alphonse  Masino,  together  with 
a letter  making  inquiry  concerning  this  matter  which  you 
directed  to  us  for  report. 

Respectfully, 

(Signed)  C.  Harrison  Parker, 

President. 

2 enclosures. 

“State  of  Louisiana,  Executive  Department,  Baton  Rouge. 

“August  18,  1902. 

“Mrs.  Frances  A.  Joseph, 

2611  St.  Ann  Street, 

New  Orleans,  La. 

“Dear  Madam — The  Governor  directs  me  to  acknow- 
ledge receipt  of  your  letter  of  the  12th  instant,  enclosing 
copy  of  an  anonymous  letter  from  the  convict  farm  alleging 
harsh  and  cruel  treatment  of  the  convict  Alphonse  Masino, 
who  was  drowned  a short  while  ago. 

“In  reply,  the  Governor  desires  to  say  that  he  had  heard 
of  the  unfortunate  occurrence  before  receiving  your  letter, 
and  had  made  inquiries  as  to  the  facts,  but  not  remembering 
them  in  detail  he  referred  your  letter  to  the  Board  of  Con- 
trol, who  replied  that  they  would  make  an  official  investi- 
gation and  report  the  result  to  him.  This  report  has  been 
made  and  it  is  herewith  enclosed. 

“The  Governor  on  his  recent  visit  to  Angola  took  occa- 
sion, besides,  to  make  special  inquiries  into  this  case.  The 
manager  told  the  Governor  that  there  was  no  doubt  that 
Masino  had  stolen  the  watch  of  a colored  brick  mason  and 
when  charged  with  this  theft  Masino  ran  away  and,  as 
stated  in  the  report,  he  was  gone  for  one  night  and  part  of 
two  days  before  his  capture.  He  served  in  the  capacity  of 
a “trusty,”  which  means  that  he  was  not  required  to  work 
in  the  sun  and  was  given  certain  privileges  not  accorded  to 
the  other  convicts.  For  this  theft  he  was  given  ten  lashes 
and  on  the  day  following,  eleven  more  as  a punishment  for 
running  away.  This  was  all  the  punishment  inflicted  upon 
him.  He  was  then  put  back  under  the  guards  and  on  the 
morning  of  the  3rd,  of  his  own  motion,  he  told  the  Sergeant 
that  if  he  would  go  with  him  he  would  take  him  (the  Ser- 
geant) to  the  place  where  he  had  buried  the  watch.  Before 
starting  the  prisoner  had  soiled  his  clothes  and  he  asked 
permission  to  go  to  the  river  to  wash  himself.  On  arriving 


38 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


there,  he  stripped,  washed  his  clothes  and  then  got  into 
deep  water,  making  no  effort  to  save  himself.  A pole  was 
extended  to  him  which  he  would  not  seize  and  other  con- 
victs formed  a chain  by  holding  each  other  by  the  hand  to 
endeavor  to  save  him.  But  Masino  refused  all  this  assist- 
ance and  was  drowned. 

“It  seems  that  he  had  taken  some  kind  of  mixture,  the 
nature  of  which  had  not  yet  been  ascertained  in  the  exam- 
ination of  a vial  found  in  his  possession,  which  had  pro- 
duced a violent  irritation  of  his  bowels.  The  manager  was 
of  the  opinion  that  Masino  either  committed  suicide  or  was 
seized  with  a cramp  while  in  the  water. 

“No  cruel  or  inhuman  treatment  of  the  convicts  is  per- 
mitted and  the  Governor  feels  sure  that  those  in  charge  of 
the  convicts  carry  out  the  instructions  of  the  Board  of 
Control. 

“Very  respectfully, 

“(Signed)  Leon  Jastremski, 

Private  Secretary.” 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE  OLD  WORKHOUSE. 

When  Masino  realized  there  was  no  redemption  for 
him  from  this  miserable  life  of  torture  he  was  almost  fit  for 
the  insane  asylum ; no,  not  that,  for  I would  rather  someone 
would  kill  me  than  put  me  into  some  of  the  insane  asylums. 
One  keeper  of  an  asylum  in  Louisiana  would  strangle  frac- 
tious patients  in  a large  bath-tub  of  water,  and  when  the 
patients  were  more  dead  than  alive,  resuscitate  them.  On 
one  of  these  occasions,  the  patient  never  came  to.  When 
indigent,  insane  people  are  found  a policeman  goes  and 
arrests  them.  They  are  taken  to  the  prison  and  locked  up. 
When  the  Coroner  has  nothing  to  do,  he  goes  out  to  see 
them.  Sometimes  it  takes  him  over  a week  to  do  so.  I 
have  seen  in  a prison  a white  woman  on  one  of  the  coldest 
days  in  January,  with  only  an  old  piece  of  jute  bagging  tied 
around  her  lower  limbs  and  an  old  alpaca  coat  covering  her 
body,  her  bare  feet  blue  and  sore  from  exposure.  In  the 
same  old  workhouse  was  a colored  woman  perfectly  nude, 
locked  in  a cell.  There  was  no  heat  for  either  of  them,  for 
the  old  place  had  no  heater  or  place  to  make  fire.  These 


THE  OLD  WORK-HOUSE. 


. J 

l 


THE  OLD  WORKHOUSE 


39 


sights  made  me  a beggar.  I begged  clothes  from  both  my 
white  and  colored  friends.  I looked  like  a Santa  Clauo 
going  to  the  jail  every  day  for  a week,  until  I had  all  clad. 
I have  often  thought  of  the  cruelty  of  arresting  people, 
arraigning  them  in  a court  before  a judge,  who  sentences 
the  sick  to  pay  a fine  or  suffer  imprisonment  for  30  or  60 
days  while  they  are  under  the  influence  of  cocaine  or  opium. 
In  advanced  cases  he  places  them  in  prison  to  await  examin- 
ation by  the  coroner  who  may  keep  them  waiting  from  one 
to  three  months  before  deportation  to  an  asylum  be  made. 
The  fines  collected  from  those  who  are  addicted  to  the  use 
of  the  above  deadly  drugs  are  placed  in  the  City’s  treasury 
to  help  pay  the  judge  who  imposes  the  fine.  Some  of  these 
poor  weak  creatures  are  made  fiends  through  careless  phy- 
sicians who  use  the  drug  to  allay  every  little  pain  the  flesh 
is  heir  to,  thus  creating  victims  to  a most  baneful  practice. 

The  old  workhouse  has  given  me  many  anxious  mo- 
ments; it  is  situated  at  the  corner  of  the  old  Girod  Ceme- 
tery, taking  about  a half  square  of  ground.  Here  several 
old  one-story  buildings  were  used  to  house  the  prisoners 
and  the  city’s  indigent  insane.  The  long  halls,  about  20x60 
feet,  with  rows  of  shelves  on  either  side,  were  used  for  the 
prisoner’s  sleeping  quarters.  As  I have  already  stated  there 
was  no  way  to  heat  these  places  in  winter,  and  the  suffer- 
ing of  these  unfortunates  was  pitiable. 

I have  gone  to  the  workhouse  to  carry  a Jewish  boy 
some  salve  to  put  on  an  ugly  sore,  and  some  rose  water  for 
a colored  girl  to  wash  her  eyes.  I have  heard  rumors  about 
the  superintendent’s  conduct  toward  the  women  prisoners, 
and  saw  him  in  one  of  the  dormitories  patting  a German 
girl  on  her  shoulder.  She  did  not  seem  to  like  his  familiarity 
or  his  words.  When  he  was  gone,  I got  a chance  to  speak 
to  her,  and  asked  her  if  he  was  kind.  She  answered  me, 
“No,  unless  he  can  do  as  he  likes  with  you.”  I asked  what 
that  was.  She  replied,  “Say  nothing  when  he  comes  in  the 
ward  at  night.”  I asked  if  she  would  be  willing  to  repeat 
this  and  she  said  she  could  not ; that  she  would  get  a good 
dose  of  the  dungeon,  and  bread  and  water.  She  had  not 
been  long  in  America,  she  was  working  out  in  a family, 
went  to  a Sunday  picnic,  got  into  a row  with  another  girl, 
when  both  were  arrested  and  fined  ten  dollars  or  thirty 


40 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


days  at  the  workhouse,  and  as  no  one  paid  her  fine  she  was 
incarcerated. 

I had  heard  some  ugly  rumors  concerning  the  conduct 
of  the  superintendent  and  keepers  of  this  place ; the  men 
had  charge  of  the  keys  that  locked  the  doors  of  the  women’s 
cells  as  there  were  no  night  matrons. 

Mr.  Patrick  Westfeldt,  one  of  the  officers  of  the  Prison 
Reform  Association,  which  was  organized  several  years 
after  I started  in  the  work,  sent  me  a message,  requesting 
me  to  go  to  this  place  and  get  a baby  from  a crazy  woman 
who  had  been  arrested  that  day  on  the  streets.  March  3rd 
was  a cold  day.  I went  to  a friend’s  house  on  the  way  to 
the  prison  and  requested  her  to  go  with  me.  She  consented. 
When  we  arrived  at  the  prison  it  was  8:30  p.  m.  I knocked 
and  was  admitted  with  my  friend,  Mrs.  Sarofield.  The  su- 
perintendent had  been  drinking;  his  foul  breath  and  un- 
steady gait  told  that.  When  I told  him  my  mission  he 
began  cursing  and  abusing  the  Prison  Reform  Association 
for  sending  me  with  an  order  for  the  baby.  He  took  a 
lantern,  bade  us  follow  him,  which  we  did.  He  unlocked  the 
long  barn-like  dormitory  and  stepped  inside.  We  followed, 
looking  on  either  side  of  the  place  where  women  were 
stretched  on  bare  shelves,  shivering  under  their  light  cov- 
ering of  old  ragged  blankets — and  well  might  we  say  with 
Burns : “Man’s  inhumanity  to  man  makes  countless  thou- 
sands mourn.”  At  the  very  end  we  came  upon  the  crazy 
woman  and  her  babe  of  seven  months.  Another  woman 
had  squeezed  on  the  shelf  with  her  and  they  were  trying  to 
keep  the  baby  warm  between  them.  I asked  the  crazy 
woman  to  let  me  take  the  baby  with  me  to  my  home  for  the 
night,  where  it  would  be  kept  comfortable,  and  on  the  mor- 
row I would  get  her  out.  She  clung  to  her  baby  and  would 
not  let  me  have  it  nor  even  touch  it,  and  answered,  “No, 
Sister  Joseph,  you  take  us  both  out  to-night.”  I then  recog- 
nized by  the  superintendent’s  dirty  lantern  the  crazy  girl 
I had  seen  in  that  same  prison  sixteen  months  before,  a 
pretty  young  mulattress  of  fifteen  years,  who  had  attempted 
to  kill  her  father  while  in  a fit.  She  had  been  under  the 
superintendent’s  charge  for  ninety  days.  The  baby  was 
the  fruit  of  that  first  imprisonment.  The  superintendent 
grew  impatient  at  my  pleading  with  the  crazy  woman  and 
said,  “Oh,  get  away,  and  let  me  throw  her  down.  I’ll  put 


THE  OLD  WORKHOUSE 


41 


my  knee  on  her  breast  and  take  the  baby  for  you.”  I said, 
“No,  don’t  use  violence;  I have  brought  a cape  with  me;  I 
will  let  her  have  it  to  keep  the  baby  warm.”  I sent  out  and 
got  it  some  warm  milk.  On  leaving  the  place  the  superin- 
tendent stooped  and  caressing  one  of  the  women  lying  on 
the  shelf,  told  her  he  would  be  back  when  he  let  us  out,  and 
spend  a while  with  her.  The  words  he  used  were  too  vile 
to  record.  It  was  a few  steps  to  the  gate,  and  when  we 
were  in  the  street  again,  my  friend,  being  angry  at  what  we 
had  seen  and  heard,  vowed  never  to  go  with  me  again.  I 
too  was  shocked,  but  with  uplifted  hand  I vowed  not  to  rest 
until  that  man  was  out  of  that  position  and  the  conditions 
in  that  jail  changed.  There  were  no  matrons  and  those 
men,  made  careless  and  vicious  by  drink,  were  in  charge  of 
those  weak  and  unfortunate  women  fourteen  hours  out  of 
twenty-four.  Instead  of  the  city  reforming  these  unfortu- 
nates, they  were  being  degraded  by  the  city’s  employees. 

Early  the  next  morning  I was  in  the  Mayor's  parlors 
at  the  City  Hall,  telling  him  of  my  unpleasant  experience 
of  the  night  before.  Mayor  Flower  was  shocked  and  pained, 
and  asked  if  I could  repeat  my  story  to  the  Commissioner 
of  Police  and  Public  Buildings.  I replied  I could,  where- 
upon he  set  an  hour  for  me  to  come  back.  During  the  in- 
terval I went  to  tell  Mr.  Westfeldt,  one  of  God’s  own  noble- 
men. He  was  one  of  the  officers  of  the  Prison  Reform  As- 
sociation. He  said,  “We  have  been  expecting  something 
like  this.  I will  go  with  you  to  the  City  Hall  and  meet  the 
Commissioner  and  the  Mayor  at  the  hour  stated  and  hear 
the  charges.”  His  office  was  about  four  squares  away  from 
the  City  Hall.  It  was  then  two  o’clock.  We  walked  to- 
gether to  the  City  Hall,  went  into  the  Mayor’s  parlors, 
whence  we  were  directed  into  the  secretary’s  office,  where 
the  Commissioner,  Mr.  Murphy,  was  awaiting  us  with  Mr. 
Mehle,  the  president  of  the  City  Council.  I had  to  repeat 
the  whole  ugly  truth.  The  proper  charges  were  preferred, 
the  superintendent  immediately  suspended  and  the  case 
placd  in  the  hands  of  the  Public  Order  Committee  of  the 
City  Council.  The  date  was  set  for  the  trial  and  then  my 
troubles  began.  I was  between  two  fires.  The  friends  of 
the  superintendent  wrote  me  threatening  letters.  My  own 
friends  begged  me  to  withdraw  the  charges  or  modify  them. 
This  I refused  to  do,  saying,  if  the  enemy  killed  me  for 


42 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


exposing  the  filthiest  place  in  the  state  I would  glorify  God 
for  allowing  me  to  die  a martyr  to  a righteous  cause.  I hoped 
and  was  undismayed.  I knew  that  God  knew  my  sorrows, 
and  counted  my  tears.  He  would  lift  up  my  head. 

The  two  weeks  passed.  The  night  for  the  trial  came.  I 
was  on  time,  as  was  Mrs.  Sarofield,  my  witness.  The  trial 
was  held  in  the  Council  Chamber.  The  guilty  superinten- 
dent was  present.  The  Chairman  had  the  Secretary  read 
the  charges  and  I was  asked  if  they  were  correct  and  re- 
plied, “Yes.”  The  superintendent  was  asked  if  he  was 
guilty.  He  replied,  “No,”  and  asked  the  Chairman  if  he 
would  entertain  a charge  made  by  a Negro  woman  against 
a white  man.  That  noble  Chairman  said,  “Yes,  she  has  a 
right.”  The  superintendent  asked,  “What  right?”  I asked 
the  Chairman  to  please  let  me  answer,  which  he  did.  I re- 
plied, “The  right  of  a respectable,  law-abiding  citizen  and 
property  owner,  whose  taxes  help  to  pay  your  salary  and  to 
whom  you  are  amenable.”  There  was  no  further  question 
of  right.  They  heard  my  witness  and  the-  men  of  the  com- 
mittee questioned  me  closely,  but  when  the  superintendent 
tried  to  have  us  repeat  his  exact  language,  those  gentlemen 
refused  to  make  us  undergo  that  humiliation.  We  proved 
beyond  a doubt  that  he  was  drunk  and  took  undue  liberties 
with  his  women  prisoners.  He  begged  the  committee  to 
defer  their  decision  until  a week  later  that  he  might  locate 
the  woman  I had  accused  him  of  being  unduly  familiar 
with.  This  was  granted.  It  was  twelve  o’clock  at  night 
when  I left  the  City  Hall,  feeling  sure  God  would  help  me 
come  out  with  victory  at  the  end. 

On  the  day  set  I received  my  notice  to  be  at  the  meeting 
at  the  City  Hall  at  7:30  p.  m.,  and  my  witness  and  I were 
on  time.  The  superintendent  had  the  woman  on  hand.  She 
testified  that  the  superintendent  had  never  insulted  her  in 
his  life.  I then  asked  the  superintendent  if  this  poor  aban- 
doned creature  who  lived  a life  of  shame,  more  often  in  jail 
than  out,  more  often  drunk  than  sober,  could  be  insulted ; or 
tell  us  what  would  be  an  insult  to  her.  They  decided  they 
could  not  say  anything  to  shock  her  modesty  or  bring  the 
blushes  of  shame  to  her  cheek.  One  of  the  committee  wanted 
to  know  if  I had  any  malice  toward  the  superintendent.  My 
answer  was  “No.”  I simply  wanted  him  removed  from  the 
city’s  house  of  correction  because  he  had  turned  it  into  a 
house  of  ill-fame  for  his  own  private  use,  for  which  the  city 


THE  NEW  WORK-HOUSE,  OR  THE  HOUSE  OP  DETENTION. 


THE  OLD  WORKHOUSE 


43 


was  paying  him  a salary.  The  committee  went  into  a pri- 
vate session.  They  hated  to  discharge  him,  as  he  had  been 
helpful  in  getting  that  administration  in,  so  reached  a com- 
promise. They  fined  him  $75.00,  reprimanded  him,  and  told 
him  to  be  careful  in  the  future.  The  city’s  power,  the  Press, 
was  not  satisfied  and  kept  at  him  until  he  was  removed. 
This  exposure  caused  the  authorities  to  place  matrons  in 
the  prisons  at  night  and  brought  forth  the  letter  from  Mr. 
Murphy  in  the  introductory  pages.  The  gentlemen  of 
the  Council  were  most  kind  and  courteous,  in  fact  most  of 
the  men  of  Louisiana  have  treated  me  with  the  greatest 
respect  and  have  encouraged  and  helped  me  in  my  work.  If 
it  were  not  for  them  and  the  noble  white  women  of  my 
state,  I would  have  fainted  long  since. 

Col.  James  Zacharie,  a member  of  the  City  Council, 
read  my  report  of  the  conditions  at  the  old  workhouse.  He 
and  others  visited  it,  and  started  a movement  to  build  a new 
prison.  A handsome  brick  structure  was  erected  in  Tulane 
Avenue,  and  named  the  House  of  Detention.  Under  Com- 
missioner Pujol  and  Capt.  Picheloup  everything  is  kept  as 
neat  and  clean  as  can  be.  The  old  workhouse  is  now  used 
to  house  the  stray  animals  found  in  the  city  streets. 

I wish  to  say  that  there  are  some  white  men  and  women 
just  as  noble  in  the  State  of  Louisiana  as  may  be  found  any- 
where on  earth.  They  believe  in  justice  to  all,  white  or 
black,  rich  or  poor.  I have  seen  a white  man  risk  his  life 
for  a Negro  man,  and  a white  woman  risk  her  good  repute 
to  help  a sick  Negro  woman.  The  kindly  help  of  the  above 
class  of  Christian  white  people  has  caused  my  race  to  be 
more  patient  amid  the  many  insults  and  acts  of  injustice 
inflicted  upon  them  by  the  less  human  whites. 

The  Era  Club  of  New  Orleans,  composed  of  the  leading 
white  women  of  the  city,  became  aroused  at  the  exposure 
I brought  about  in  the  workhouse  and  encouraged  me  to  go 
forward;  they  would  help  me.  They  invited  me  to  appear 
before  a Committee  of  the  Club  and  assured  me  of  their 
hearty  support.  They  then  took  up  the  jail  and  court  work, 
looking  to  their  improvement.  Through  the  efforts  of  the 
Era  Club  the  much  needed  Juvenile  Court  was  brought  into 
existence  in  July,  1903. 

For  a long  time  I begged  clothes  for  the  city’s  indigent 
insane.  I called  the  attention  of  the  Prison  Reform  Asso- 


44 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


ciation  to  this  and  they  had  the  Budget  Committee  appro- 
priate a little  sum  each  year  for  this  purpose.  I am  hoping 
to  hear  of  an  appropriation  to  buy  clothing  for  the  prisoners 
who  are  kept  in  the  Parish  Prison  from  one  to  six  months. 
Those  who  have  no  relatives  or  friends  to  furnish  clothing 
have  a hard  time  to  keep  clean  and  hide  their  person. 
Should  they  get  caught  in  a rain  while  at  work  they  must 
let  their  clothes  dry  on  them.  Many  have  had  to  spend 
days  in  the  prison  hospital  being  treated  for  colds  con- 
tracted in  this  way.  Often  the  sheriff  and  deputies  are 
scored  for  the  presence  of  vermin  in  the  prison  when  the 
Mayor  or  the  City  Fathers  are  to  blame  for  not  providing 
means  and  changes  for  the  prisons.  I have  seen  men  wear 
one  suit  of  clothes  nearly  six  months. 

The  prison  officials,  with  but  few  exceptions,  are  good 
men,  doing  the  best  they  can  with  the  little  money  and 
supplies.  All  the  state  prisons  I have  visited  furnish  cloth- 
ing for  the  inmates.  If  cleanliness  is  next  to  Godliness, 
then  do  let  us  have  more  cleanliness.  This  can  only  be 
done  by  the  authorities  furnishing  that  very  necessary 
change  of  clothes  to  each  prisoner.  This  is  done  in  England, 
Ireland  and  Scotland.  There  the  prisoners’  clothes  are  taken 
off  as  soon  as  they  come  in,  it  matters  not  if  only  for  a day. 
They  are  made  to  bathe  and  the  clean  clothes  are  given 
them  and  theirs  are  fumigated,  washed  and  ironed,  after 
which  they  are  bundled,  numbered  and  put  away  for  the 
prisoners  when  they  are  released.  When  they  go  to  trial 
their  clothes  are  given  them  and  the  prison  clothes  are 
turned  over  to  the  matron  to  be  made  ready  for  some  other 
prisoner. 

Mr.  J.  Watts  Kearney,  another  one  of  our  city’s  true  and 
noble  men,  while  President  of  the  Prison  Reform  Associa- 
tion. often  gave  me  an  order  on  some  large  dry  goods  store 
to  get  goods  to  make  shirts  for  the  prisoners.  I have  stood 
for  hours  cutting  out  garments  in  the  women’s  department 
for  them  to  sew,  thus  keeping  their  idle  fingers  busy.  In 
this  way  we  had  on  hand  a supply  of  shirts  and  skirts  for 
the  prisoners  who  had  none. 

I have  ofttimes  taken  my  own  money,  gone  to  second- 
hand dealers  and  bought  shoes,  carried  them  to  the  prison 
and  fitted  up  barefooted  white  and  black  prisoners,  in  win- 
ter to  keep  them  from  suffering  the  pain  of  frostbites. 


THE  REMEDY 


45 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  REMEDY. 

I am  asked  the  question,  “What  would  you  do  to  pre- 
vent crime?”  “An  idle  brain  is  the  devil’s  workshop.” 
Knowing  this  I would  give  every  child  a good  common 
school  education  with  manual  training  and  compel  each  to 
learn  a trade,  for  I have  observed  in  my  travels  through  the 
State  Prisons  that  fully  ninety  per  cent  of  the  prisoners 
have  no  trade.  People  who  have  trades  are  too  busy  earn- 
ing a living  to  get  into  trouble. 

A system  of  education  which  does  not  begin  in  the  pri- 
mary grade  to  develop  and  train  the  body  and  limbs  as  well 
as  the  mind  is  radically  deficient.  Executive  ability  is  de- 
veloped through  the  process  of  body  discipline  which  should 
be  part  of  the  public  school  training.  The  above  helps  the 
child  to  gain  will  power  before  which  difficulties  vanish  and 
through  which  successes  must  come  if  such  are  possible 
under  any  circumstances.  Plato,  the  ancient  philosopher, 
said,  “To  educate  the  mind  and  morals  without  training  the 
body  develops  a cripple.’’  Each  child  ought  to  be  taught 
and  encouraged  to  have  a purpose  in  life,  some  object  in 
view  to  work  up  to.  For  what  Carlyle  says  of  life  we  may 
well  say  of  the  intellectual  life  in  particular:  “The  man 
without  a purpose  is  like  a ship  without  a rudder,  a waif, 
a nothing,  a no  man.”  Drifting  with  the  tide,  bound  for  no 
port. 

Each  child  ought  to  be  examined  for  such  afflictions  as 
will  retard  his  progress  in  developing  along  all  lines.  Such 
diseases  as  adenoids,  afflicted  tonsils,  tongue-tie,  weak  eyes, 
etc.,  can  be  often  cured  with  a single  operation.  The  State 
should  see  that  each  child  of  school  age  is  examined  by  a 
physician  and  the  necessary  steps  taken  to  help  it  to  begin 
school  unhampered,  thus  reducing  the  number  from  rvhich 
our  criminal  rank  are  usually  recruited. 

Every  state  should  have  a well  equipped  industrial  and 
agricultural  school;  this  is  just  as  necessary  to  its  success 
as  oil  is  to  machinery.  This  school  should  be  situated  in 
the  suburbs  of  the  largest  city  of  the  state,  so  that  a market 
could  be  had  near  at  hand  to  dispose  of  the  school  products. 


46 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


The  school  should  be  largely  supported  by  the  state  to  be 
a success. 

Every  industrial  school  can  have  a home  department 
with  very  little  extra  cost.  Children  should  be  removed 
from  immoral  surroundings  and  trained  for  lives  of  use- 
fulness. 

Where  there  is  not  a state  industrial  and  agricultural 
school  there  should  be  an  association  formed.  To  do  this, 
call  a mass  meeting  in  a large  central  church,  have  good 
speakers  and  music  interspersed  to  create  interest  for  the 
project.  Then  proceed  to  organize  an  association,  appoint 
a committee  to  draw  up  by-laws,  have  same  chartered 
according  to  the  state  laws.  Have  an  office  and  proceed  to 
keep  the  work  before  the  public  through  the  newspapers 
and  make  appeals  for  money.  Be  sure  to  have  honest,  re- 
spectable people  at  the  head,  have  treasurer  give  bond  to 
hold  money  collected.  Ask  for  donation  of  land  and  prop- 
erty. Some  one  person  must  give  all  his  time  to  the  work. 

When  proper  site  is  found,  elect  from  the  association 
persons  to  serve  on  the  board  of  managers  who  will  make 
rules  to  govern  the  institution  and  supply  all  its  wants.  The 
chief  promoter  must  be  a strong  Christian  who  will  not 
believe  in  failure ; he  should  take  Sam  Jones’  advice  : “Leave 
their  feelings  locked  up  at  home,  for  they  will  be  sure  to 
meet  some  fool  on  the  way  who  will  hurt  them.” 

Have  a law  made  in  your  state  authorizing  the  proper 
authorities  to  take  children  from  immoral  surroundings  and 
send  them  where  they  can  be  properly  trained.  This  will 
save  souls  and  money  to  the  State.  “An  ounce  of  preven- 
tion is  worth  a pound  of  cure.” 

This  really  means  going  to  the  seat  of  the  criminal 
trouble,  cleaning  the  fountain  instead  of  working  with  the 
old  people  who  are  in  the  stream  of  crime.  If  this  course 
is  pursued  it  will  reduce  crime  to  a minimum,  save  money 
to  the  State,  lessen  its  criminals  and  reduce  its  prisons.  I 
have  reached  this  conclusion  after  studying  criminology 
over  fifteen  years  in  America  and  Europe. 

The  following  stanzas  were  clipped  from  a London 
paper  and  express  my  thoughts  precisely: 


THE  REMEDY 


47 


Avoiding  Accidents  at  a Cliff. 

’Twas  a dangerous  cliff,  as  they  freely  confessed, 
Though  to  walk  near  its  crest  was  so  pleasant; 

But  over  its  terrible  edge  there  had  slipped 
A duke,  and  full  many  a peasant ; 

So  the  people  said  something  would  have  to  be  clone, 
But  their  projects  did  not  all  tally. 

Some  said,  “Put  a fence  around  the  edge  of  the  cliff 
Some,  “An  ambulance  down  in  the  valley.” 

But  the  cry  for  the  ambulance  carried  the  day ; 

For  it  spread  through  the  neighboring  city; 

A fence  may  be  useful  or  not,  it  is  true, 

But  each  heart  became  brimful  of  pity 

For  those  who  slipped  over  that  dangerous  cliff ; 

And  the  dwellers  in  highway  and  valley 
Gave  pounds  or  gave  pence,  not  to  put  up  a fence. 

But  an  ambulance  down  in  the  valley. 

“For  the  cliff  is  all  right  if  you’re  careful,’’  they  said, 
“And  if  folks  even  slip  and  are  dropping, 

It  isn’t  the  slipping  that  hurts  them  so  much 
As  the  shock  down  below — when  they’re  stopping;” 
So  day  after  day,  as  these  mishaps  occurred, 

Quick  forth  would  these  rescuers  sally, 

To  pick  up  the  victims  who  fell  off  the  cliff 
With  their  ambulance  down  in  the  valley. 

Then  an  old  sage  remarked,  “It’s  a marvel  to  me 
That  people  give  far  more  attention 
To  repairing  results  than  to  stopping  the  cause 
When  they’d  much  better  aim  at  prevention. 

Let  us  stop  at  its  source  all  this  mischief,”  cried  he, 
“Come,  neighbors  and  friends,  let  us  rally; 

If  the  cliff  we  will  fence  we  might  almost  dispense 
With  the  ambulance  down  in  the  valley.” 

“Oh!  he’s  a fanatic,”  the  others  rejoined; 

“He’d  stop  all  our  Christian  endeavor — 

“Dispense  with  all  charities,  too,  if  he  could ; 


48 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


But  no!  We’ll  support  them  forever! 

Aren’t  we  picking  folk  up  just  as  fast  as  they  fall? 

And  shall  this  man  dictate  to  us?  Shall  he? 

Why  should  people  of  sense  stop  to  put  up  a fence 
While  their  ambulance  works  in  the  valley?” 

But  a sensible  few,  who  are  practical,  too, 

Will  not  bear  with  such  nonsense  much  longer; 

They  believe  that  prevention  is  better  than  cure, 

And  their  party  will  soon  be  the  stronger. 

Encourage  them,  then,  with  your  purse,  voice  and  pen, 
And  (while  other  philanthropists  dally), 

They  will  scorn  all  pretence,  and  put  a stout  fence 
On  the  cliff  that  hangs  over  the  valley. 

Better  guide  well  the  young  than  reclaim  them  when  old, 
For  the  voice  of  true  wisdom  is  calling; 

“To  rescue  the  fallen  is  good,  but  it’s  best 
To  prevent  other  people  from  falling.” 

Better  close  up  the  source  of  temptation  and  crime 
Than  deliver  from  dungeon  or  galley; 

Better  put  a strong  fence  round  the  top  of  the  cliff 
Than  an  ambulance  down  in  the  valley. 

An  article  entitled  “The  Cost  of  Crime  in  the  United 
States,”  by  Rev.  John  J.  Munro,  Chaplain  to  the  Prison 
Evangelistic  Society  of  New  York,  which  appeared  in  Har- 
per’s Weekly,  is  one  of  great  interest,  not  only  to  the  student 
of  criminology  and  the  sociologists,  but  to  every  individual. 
The  article,  which  is  the  product  of  a great  deal  of  research, 
the  data  being  extremely  difficult  of  acquirement,  shows  that 
the  cost  of  crime  in  this  country  during  the  year  1906 
reached  the  stupendous  total  of  more  than  $1,000,000,000. 
The  cost  of  crime  is  a remarkable  field  for  economic  inves- 
tigation, as  it  is  something  which  enters  into  practically 
every  department  of  our  existence.  In  1906  twenty-five  per 
cent  of  the  $130,000,000  and  more  raised  by  taxation  for  the 
running  expenses  of  the  city  of  Greater  New  York  were 
spent  in  the  repression  and  correction  of  crime.  This  will 
give  one  an  idea  of  the  general  cost  of  crime  throughout 
the  country.  Mr.  Munro,  in  this  article,  has  gone  into 
numerous  details  of  expenditure  both  by  States  and  the 
National  Government  in  order  to  arrive  at  these  conclusions. 


THE  REMEDY 


49 


In  1906  nearly  twenty-five  per  cent  of  the  taxes  received 
in  the  State  of  Louisiana  was  spent  for  the  repression  and  on 
account  of  crime.  Well  might  we  say  with  Longfellow : 

“If  half  the  power  that  fills  the  world  with  terror; 

If  half  the  wealth  bestowed  on  camps  and  courts, 

Were  given  to  redeem  the  human  mind  from  error, 

There  were  no  need  of  arsenals  nor  forts.” 

Here  are  some  facts:  Ada  Juke  was  born  in  New 
York  City  in  1740  and  died  at  the  age  of  64  years,  a drunk- 
ard, a thief  and  a tramp.  Ller  descendants  have  numbered 
834.  The  record  of  709  of  them  have  been  traced  from  youth 
to  death ; 106  were  illegitimates  ; 142  beggars ; 64  lived  off 
charity;  76  were  convicts,  7 of  whom  were  sentenced  for 
murder;  181  women  lived  disreputable  lives;  the  remainder 
were  more  or  less  addicted  to  drink.  It  is  estimated  that 
this  woman  and  her  descendants  have  already  cost  tax- 
payers over  $125,000,000.  She  was  illegitimate,  illiterate, 
idle  and  addicted  to  drink.  Truly  the  devil  found  much 
work  for  her  idle  hands  to  do.  What  a difference  between 
her  life  and  the  life  of  President  Jonathan  Edwards  and  his 
offspring.  How  different ! He  and  his  descendants  made 
the  world  better,  blessing  humanity  through  countless  ages. 
They  gave  to  the  world  priceless  good  in  words  and  deeds. 

Again,  I must  urge,  let  us  have  compulsory  Christian 
education  combined  with  manual  training  in  every  commu- 
nity. Ignorant  people  break  the  laws  of  the  land  and  God 
with  impunity,  having  very  little  knowledge  of  right  and 
wrong.  Nearly  all  the  men  who  commit  heinous  crimes  are 
ignorant,  idle  beings,  without  trades.  With  their  animal 
natures  highly  developed,  they  form  the  subjects  and  excuse 
for  “Judge  Lynch,”  that  atrocious  American  institution,  and 
they  beget  their  own  kind  even  should  they  mate  with  good 
individuals.  There  are  two  forces  ever  contending  in  their 
offspring  for  supremacy.  More  often  the  tendency  to  do 
wrong  will  win  in  the  battle.  The  individual  will  fall  and 
travel  with  little  will-power  left  to  oppose  the  temptation. 
Often  we  find  the  road  to  right  hard,  while  the  road  to 
wrong  is  easy  and  pleasant;  yes,  even  tempting  to  the  weak, 
vacillating  human  being. 


50 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


I would  to  God  every  State  in  the  Union  would  abolish 
the  leasing  of  its  convicts  to  contractors.  No  more  diabol- 
ical plan  was  ever  hatched  to  punish  the  erring  citizen.  The 
contractor  works  the  prisoners  early  and  late  with  poor 
food,  bad  sleeping  quarters,  the  consequence  being  a high 
death  rate.  Very  little,  if  any,  reformatory  measures  are 
used. 

The  State  of  Louisiana  tried  this  scheme  to  its  shame 
and  sorrow.  Men  coming  from  the  prison,  after  serving 
their  terms,  were  worse  than  when  they  entered,  feeling 
that  they  owed  society  a grudge  that  could  only  be  paid  by 
committing  more  crimes. 

Since  1901  Louisiana  cares  for  its  own  prisoners.  The 
Board  of  Control  and  the  General  Superintendent  are  ap- 
pointed by  the  Governor,  and  he  is  recommended  for  his 
patience,  tact,  executive  ability  and  also  kindness  and  stern- 
ness must  be  inherent  in  them  to  a great  degree.  The  best 
man  I have  known  in  this  position  is  the  superintendent  of 
the  county  jail  in  Chicago,  111.,  Mr.  Whitman.  He  rules  his 
prisoners  with  love.  They  all  regard  him  as  their  friend 
and  brother  and  are  ever  ready  to  obey  his  least  wish.  His 
prison  discipline  was  the  finest  I have  ever  seen,  and  I have 
visited  twenty-two  state  prisons,  and  those  of  Ireland,  Scot- 
land, England  and  France.  To  know  Mr.  Whitman  is  to 
admire  him. 

All  prisoners  should  be  urged  and  taught  to  raise  the 
food  they  eat.  Their  coming  in  contact  with  the  soil,  watch- 
ing the  seeds  as  they  burst  through  the  earth  putting  forth 
their  sprouts,  turns  their  thoughts  to  God,  the  giver  of  life. 
This  softens  the  hard  heart  and  creates  interest  in  all  grow- 
ing things.  The  authorities  should  sell  the  surplus  product 
and  after  all  expenses  are  deducted  the  profit  could  be 
placed  to  the  credit  of  the  prisoners  and  a portion  sent  to 
their  families  to  keep  them  from  becoming  a charge  on  the 
community  during  the  prisoner’s  incarceration. 

This  system  would  prevent  much  suffering  among  the 
innocent  ones  of  the  prisoners’  families.  I have  seen  sick 
wives  and  hungry  babies  appealing  for  food  and  shelter. 
The  father  and  husband  had  plenty  to  eat  while  working 
in  prison  putting  money  in  the  Government  Treasury.  When 
there  is  no  family  to  support  the  money  could  be  saved 
against  the  day  of  his  discharge  and  given  him  to  start  life 


THE  REMEDY 


51 


anew.  Where  there  is  a life  sentence  the  State  might  keep 
his  share  and  apply  it  to  charity. 

This  system  would  create  more  respect  for  the  author- 
ities and  I believe  make  prisoners  more  industrious  and 
amenable  to  prison  rules,  creating  in  them  a desire  to  pre- 
pare for  a better  life  in  the  future  when  free  from  jail 
sentence. 

The  State  of  Louisiana  has  bought  three  plantations 
with  the  money  earned  by  the  prisoners.  The  prisoners 
work  these,  netting  a fine  profit  to  the  State.  The  report 
for  1907  showed  that  the  State  made  clear  of  expenses,  by 
its  prison  labor,  the  sum  of  $71,076.94.  The  death  rate  was 
decreased  and  there  is  less  sickness  and  dissatisfaction 
among  the  prisoners.  They  have  not  increased  in  ratio  to 
the  population.  This  means  that  the  people  are  either 
getting  better  or  the  crude  reformatory  measures,  lately  put 
into  practice,  are  giving  satisfactory  results. 

The  total  population  of  Louisiana,  census  of  1910,  is 
1,656,388.  Of  these,  713,874  are  colored.  The  population 
has  grown  since  the  last  census  because  of  the  thousands 
of  white  immigrants  arriving  recently  from  European 
countries. 

There  were  received  at  the  State  Prison  for  fourteen 
years  the  following  number  of  prisoners: 


1894 

633 

1901 

548 

•895 

601 

1902 

573 

1896 

527 

1903 

477 

1897 

572 

1904 

501 

1898 

549 

1905 

559 

1899 

5i5 

1906 

720 

1900 

595 

1907 

664 

A total  of  8,034  prisoners,  or  an  average  of  574  prison- 
ers per  year.  The  death  rate  under  the  lease  was  up  to 
ninety-eight  per  thousand ; under  the  present  system  of 
captain  and  trustee,  appointed  by  the  Governor,  the  death 
rate  is  fourteen  per  thousand. 

Most  of  the  prisoners  are  convicted  for  larceny.  The 
white  thief  differs  from  the  colored,  in  that  the  latter  steals 
fine  clothing,  food  or  drink,  while  the  white  will  rob  the 
state  treasury,  a bank  or  the  railroads.  The  white  man’s 
opportunities  are  greater,  therefore  his  stealings  are  larger. 
When  the  white  man  kills  it  is  sometimes  called  murder, 


52 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


manslaughter,  or  killing  in  self-defense,  according  to  his 
means  or  station  in  life,  his  social  status  and  that  of  the 
man  he  has  killed,  his  politics,  etc.,  all  of  which  must  be 
brought  to  bear  before  he  is  tried  before  a jury  of  his  peers, 
when  he  may  escape  punishment.  In  the  case  of  the  Negro 
none  of  these  are  considered.  This  is  in  no  wise  an  excuse 
for  my  people.  They  ought  to  be  most  Christ-like.  Having 
so  lately  been  given  their  freedom  they  ought  to  be  too 
busy  serving  God  and  seizing  every  opportunity  to  better 
their  lives  than  to  have  any  time  to  break  the  laws. 

However,  I am  encouraged  and  take  much  comfort  in 
the  fact  that  crime  is  on  the  decrease  among  colored  people; 
recent  figures  obtained  from  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Cin- 
cinnati, Chicago,  the  states  to  which  Negroes  seem  to 
migrate  in  largest  numbers,  have  all  testified  to  this.  The 
population  everywhere  is  steadily  increasing. 

In  a letter  from  the  District  Attorney  of  the  City  of 
Milwaukee,  Wisconsin,  he  stated  the  colored  population  of 
Milwaukee  county  is  about  3,000;  during  1911  he  had  occa- 
sion to  prosecute  only  three  colored  persons  for  felonies  in 
the  criminal  courts,  only  one  of  these  for  larceny,  the  other 
two  for  assault  and  battery;  he  goes  on  to  say  the  percent- 
age of  crime  among  the  colored  people  is  very  low  and  far 
less  proportionately  than  that  of  any  other  race  or  nation- 
ality. 

I attribute  the  decrease  in  crime  to  better  facilities  to 
educate  the  ignorant  in  our  midst;  second,  to  the  work  of 
evangelists  and  the  prison  reform  associations. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

SOME  INTERESTING  FACTS. 

I know  my  people  would  have  been  better  off  had  they 
let  the  white  man’s  beer  and  liquor  alone.  My  people  remind 
me  of  the  monkey  in  this  respect;  they  don’t  know  when 
to  stop.  A gentleman  bought  a monkey  from  a friend  and 
thought  it  was  a good  thing  to  amuse  his  wife.  The  monkey 
did  everything  he  saw  his  owner  do  and  thus  became  a 
nuisance.  One  day  the  monkey  cut  the  gentleman’s  wife’s 
hair  while  she  slept.  He  became  angry  at  this,  tried  to  sell 
it,  and  when  he  found  no  one  would  buy  it,  tried  to  give  the 
monkey  away,  but  could  not  get  anyone  to  take  it.  He  could 


SOME  INTERESTING  FACTS 


53 


not  kill  it,  so  devised  a plan  to  get  rid  of  it.  He  got  his  shav- 
ing materials  together,  sat  the  monkey  on  the  dresser  where 
he  could  see,  lathered  his  face,  shaved  it,  wiped  the  razor  on 
his  hand,  then  drew  the  back  of  the  razor  across  his  throat, 
and  left  the  room ; locking  the  monkey  alone  with  the 
shaving  materials,  he  peeped  through  the  keyhole  to  watch 
results.  The  monkey  was  an  apt  scholar,  but  he  used  the 
blade  of  the  razor  on  his  throat  instead  of  the  back,  and 
was  soon  dead  as  a result. 

My  race  would  have  accomplished  wonders  if  it  had 
not  given  so  much  time  to  frivolities ; they  have  made 
greater  progress  in  forty-eight  years  than  any  other  race 
on  earth;  their  growth  has  been  phenomenal  along  all  lines. 
In  the  last  census  taken  by  the  United  States,  the  Negro 
population  was  estimated  at  10,000,000.  The  census  taken 
overlooked  the  5,000,000  Negroes  who  are  posing  as  whites. 
This  would  bring  the  total  Negro  population  to  15,000,000. 
When  one  considers  my  race  was  freed  January  1,  1863, 
without  a home  or  a dollar,  turned  loose  like  stock  to  wan- 
der where  they  would,  God  led  and  wonderfully  provided 
for  them. 

There  is  no  race  more  patient  and  forgiving  than  the 
Negro,  and  this  is  not  because  he  lacks  courage,  but  because 
he  prefers  peace;  for  on  the  battle  field  he  has  proven  him- 
self the  equal  to  any  race.  Permit  me  to  refer  you  to 
the  brave  Toussaint  l’Ouverture,  the  West  Indian  slave, 
who  so  readily  responded  to  the  call  that  demanded  his 
assistance  to  relieve  the  sufferings  of  his  race,  or  Dessaline, 
his  successor,  or  Menelik  of  Africa,  who  traces  his  ancestry 
back  to  King  Solomon. 

Again,  recount  his  brave  deeds  in  the  Mexican  War, 
or  the  Civil  War  in  which  he  so  freely  poured  out  his  life’s 
blood  that  he  might  enjoy  the  rights  and  privileges  that  the 
Great  God  intended;  or  in  the  Cuban  War,  in  which  he  so 
valiantly  distinguished  himself  as  a warrior,  when  he 
marched  to  victory  through  the  thickest  shots  and  shells, 
through  water  to  his  neck,  through  briars  and  under- 
brush, flesh  torn  and  bleeding  when  he  marched  up  San 
Juan  Hill,  singing  as  he  went. 

If  my  people  would  have  been  more  grateful  to  God 
they  would  have  been  better  off  to-day.  There  has  not 


54 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


been  enough  gratitude  shown  our  God  for  His  many  bless- 
ings. On  January  i,  every  church  owned  by  colored  people 
ought  to  have  been  crowded  with  grateful  worshippers, 
thanking  God  for  the  day  and  such  martyrs  as  the  Immortal 
Lincoln,  Wilberforce,  Garrison,  Brown,  Wendell  Phillips. 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  and  others. 

Our  white  friends  have  helped  but  their  attention  is 
being  attracted  elsewhere.  Two  neighbors  lived  side  by 
side,  one  a Negro,  the  other  a wealthy  white  man.  The 
white  friend  came  to  the  Negro’s  cabin  one  night  with  a 
lamp  lighted  and  held  it  over  the  man’s  sick  cat.  While 
trying  to  revive  it,  another  cat  ran  through  the  room  and 
gave  a loud  wail.  The  white  friend  excitedly  exclaimed, 
“My  friend,  here,  take  this  light ; you  will  have  to  hold  your 
own  light — that  is,  my  cat  is  in  trouble.  I will  have  to  see 
after  it,”  and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  ran  quickly 
to  its  aid. 

There  are  thousands  of  aliens  flocking  to  America, 
bringing  their  untrained,  vicious  youth  to  our  shores  to 
become  the  wards  of  our  wealthy  white  Americans,  who 
are  spending  their  money  to  give  them  the  opportunity  to 
embrace  the  civilizing  influence  of  a Christian  education. 
The  Negro  must  take  care  of  his  own  cat. 

In  Alabama  some  of  the  colored  school  teachers  only 
receive  $15.00  per  month  for  three  and  four  months  of  the 
year,  out  of  which  they  must  clothe  and  board  themselves; 
while  the  criminals  of  that  State  are  leased  out  for  $26.00, 
$36.00  and  $40.00  per  month,  thus  apparently  placing  a pre- 
mium on  criminals,  especially  the  Negro,  making  the  Negro 
convict  more  essential  to  the  State  than  the  Negro  edu- 
cator. This  is  the  condition  in  most  of  the  Southern  States 
where  the  convict  lease  system  is  operated. 

Negroes  ought  to  be  a valuable  asset  to  any  country, 
for  they  as  a whole  possess  strength  and  a will  to  do  labo- 
rious work  of  any  kind.  The  Negro  is  a producer ; if  anyone 
has  any  doubts,  read  the  figures  gathered  by  John  Mitchell, 
Jr.,  Negro  editor  of  the  Richmond  Planet,  and  president  of 
the  Mechanics’  Savings  Bank  of  Richmond,  Va. 


SOME  INTERESTING  FACTS 


55 


INTERESTING  FIGURES. 

The  following  figures  no  doubt  will  prove  to  be  of 
interest.  Value  of  crops  produced  by  Negroes,  1906: 

3.7  Per  Cent  corn $ 75,820,074.40 

0.6  Wheat  3,617,483.97 

0.4  Oats  , 2,315,770.82 

0.2  Rye  - 53-39973 

9.3  Rice  1,204,884.56 

0-5  Hay  297,697.35 

0.9  Potatoes  1,417,926.52 

21. 1 Sweet  potatoes  3,192,536.24 

38.9  Cotton  249,081,188.28 

10.2  Tobacco  6,959,729.99 


Value  for  1906 ..$343,960,692.89 

Value  of  all  other  farm  products  of  Negroes 100,411,136.66 


Total  value  of  farm  products  by  Negroes 

in  1906  - - $444,371,829.55 


Have  they  saved  anything?  Let  us  read  what  Mr.  Os- 
wald Villard,  Editor  of  the  New  York  Post,  says  in  his 
appeal  for  equal  opportunity  for  the  Negro  in  America. 

He  rates  the  colored  people  high  as  accumulators.  He 
says  in  fifty  years  they  have  this  to  show : 500,000  homes, 
250,000  farms  worth  $200,000,000,  and  a total  of  $600,- 
000,000  worth  of  property.  In  my  research  work  I find  the 
Negro  has  been  doing  something  else  besides  having  tough 
meetings  and  going  to  jail;  he  is  not  as  criminal  as  he  is 
painted. 

I know  of  an  instance  in  the  City  of  New  Orleans, 
where  there  was  a raid  made  one  Saturday  night  in  one  of 
our  large  shopping  centers,  namely  Dryades  street,  where 
a large  number  of  Negro  men  were  arrested  while  they 
were  shopping.  They  were  charged  at  the  station  with  being 
dangerous  and  suspicious  characters.  A lawyer  appeared 
and  promised  to  get  them  paroled  and  get  them  out  without 
fines,  provided  they  could  furnish  $5.00  apiece ; they  prompt- 
ly emptied  their  pockets  and  were  released.  Those  who  did 
not  have  $5.00  were  kept  in  jail  over  Sunday,  tried  and  fined 
$25.00  or  thirty  days  in  the  workhouse.  The  merchants  on 


56 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


that  street  where  the  raid  was  made  waited  on  the  Mayor 
and  with  the  help  of  the  Daily  Item,  an  evening  paper,  the 
outrageous  occurrence  was  prevented. 

This  is  one  of  the  ways  the  criminal  ranks  are  increased 
and  the  number  to  work  the  roads  and  clean  streets  are 
brought  in  and  put  to  work.  In  some  states  where  convict 
labor  is  bought  by  the  lease  system,  the  man  showing  the 
least  resistance  is  placed  in  the  chain  gang  until  his  time 
is  up.  I have  seen  men  with  bare  feet,  a chain  around  the 
ankle  that  rubbed  the  flesh  with  every  step  until  blood 
came.  Georgia  is  notorious  for  her  chain  gangs,  with  its 
many  Negro  boys  and  insanitary  prisons. 

The  State  prison  at  Baton  Rouge,  La.,  is  an  unhealthy, 
rambling  old  building  that  ought  to  have  been  demolished 
long  since.  The  sleeping  quarters  of  the  prisoners  are 
small,  the  ceiling  is  low  and  the  cells  damp.  A favored 
few  have  better  places  and  they  are  not  sent  out  in  the 
camps  to  work.  Their  family  connections,  or  their  wealth, 
save  them  from  the  sentence  which  their  black  brothers 
must  serve  to  the  letter.  The  superintendent,  like  Shylock, 
sees  that  the  bill  is  paid  in  full. 

During  my  last  visit,  1907,  to  this  prison,  the  gate 
opened  to  receive  a young  white  man,  who  entered  the  yard 
with  the  sheriff,  handcuffed.  The  prisoner  was  to  begin  a 
sentence  of  one  year,  having  entered  a store  with  two  col- 
ored boys  who  stole  two  guns  and  ammunition,  and  some 
articles  of  food  and  clothing.  He  and  the  two  colored  boys 
were  taken  into  the  disrobing  room,  where  they  donned 
the  stripes  and  received  their  number.  From  henceforth 
they  were  to  be  known  only  by  numbers.  The  two  colored 
boys  were  sent  to  the  camps.  Before  they  left  I shook  hands 
with  them  and  gave  them  words  of  advice  and  encourage- 
ment, and  presented  each  of  them  a card  bearing  a scripture 
verse,  the  teaching  of  which  they  promised  to  heed.  As  I 
went  on  through  the  yard,  distributing  cards  and  shaking 
hands  with  those  I knew,  I saw  the  new  white  prisoner  sit- 
ting alone.  I stopped  to  hand  him  a card ; he  reached  out 
his  hand,  while  tears  were  streaming  down  his  sad,  pale 
face.  My  heart  was  touched,  and  I told  him  that  a year 
would  soon  pass,  and  encouraged  him  to  feel  better.  I told 
him  to  take  it  all  to  God  in  prayer,  that  He  would  surely 
help  him  to  become  a better  man.  I advised  him  that  as 


THE  VOYAGE 


57 


he  was  young  and  life  was  yet  before  him,  that  he  could 
resolve  to  put  away  the  past  and  henceforth  live  to  please 
God.  He  looked  up  at  me  and  said,  “The  town  I came  from 
is  not  far  away.  All  of  my  friends  are  a lively  set  of  fellows 
and  they  would  laugh  at  me,  and  make  it  hard  for  me  to 
live  at  home  if  I should  change  my  ways  as  you  advise  me 
and  drop  their  company.”  “Well,”  said  I,  "they  will  come 
here  to  keep  you  company  if  they  do  as  you  have  done.”  He 
said,  “I  expect  when  they  are  caught  up  with  to  see  them 
here  also.”  And  then,  as  if  he  had  reflected,  “I  don’t  intend 
they  shall  keep  me  with  them.  I will  break  away.  My  fam- 
ily is  willing  to  help  me  and  I will  change.”  “God  is  pleased 
to  hear  that  and  He  will  help  you,”  I said.  “If  the  environ- 
ments at  home  are  such  that  you  feel  that  you  cannot  resist 
them  and  live  above  temptation  and  they  will  prevent  you 
being  a good  man,  leave  that  home  and  try  another  town 
where  you  are  not  known.  Be  careful  of  your  company. 
Seek  to  know  g'ood  people  and  live  with  them.”  “You  have 
started  me  in  the  right  direction,”  answered  he,  “and  I will 
keep  this  tract  you  have  given  me  and  I will  sign  the  pledge 
to  try  each  day  to  please  God ; and  when  I get  out,  I will 
try  life  anew  in  some  towm  where  no  one  knows  me.”  I 
gladly  shook  hands  with  him,  and  left  him  praying  that  he 
would  be  saved. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  VOYAGE. 

Having  been  appointed  by  Mrs.  L.  M.  N.  Stevens,  Na- 
tional President  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.,  as  a United  States  delegate 
to  the  International  Convention  of  this  organization  which  was 
to  convene  in  Edinburgh,  Scotland,  on  the  22nd  day  of  June, 
1900,  I accepted  the  honor  although  an  empty  one  as  I would 
have  to  pay  my  own  way.  I did  this  because  I thought  I could 
make  friends  for  my  project,  the  founding  of  a home  and 
school  for  friendless  and  homeless  colored  children,  which 
would  prevent  this  class  from  being  sent  to  reformatories.  I 
had  created  a sentiment  against  this  system  but  could  get  no 
money.  But  having  an  unlimited  faith  in  God  I decided  to 
mortgage  my  home  for  $200  in  order  that  I might  have  money 
to  buy  a round  trip  ticket  which  I was  compelled  to  do  to  get 
the  cheap  rate  that  the  other  delegates  would  get.  I felt  that 


58 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


I could  raise  money  by  lectures,  and  by  living  as  economically 
as  possible  while  abroad  save  enough  to  come  back  and  show 
those  at  home  what  could  be  done  by  perseverance.  Did  God 
answer  my  prayer  for  success?  Did  I obtain  that  for  which 
I was  working?  The  closing  chapters  of  this  book  will  tell.  I 
packed  my  clothes  in  one  large  suit-case  and  one  small  satchel, 
as  I heard  it  would  be  burdensome  to  carry  a trunk  through 
Europe.  I bade  good-bye  to  my  three  grown  children  and  a 
few  friends  who  came  to  the  depot  to  see  me  off. 

I left  New  Orleans  via  the  Louisville  & Nashville  railroad, 
June  4th,  for  Philadelphia,  Pa.,  where  the  delegates  were  to 
assemble  for  the  voyage. 

On  Friday  night,  June  8th,  a reception  was  tendered  the 
delegates  at  the  Frances  Willard  Memorial  by  the  Pennsylvania 
W.  C.  T.  U.,  on  Arch  street.  This  was  a particularly  grand 
affair  and  lasted  until  a late  hour  of  the  night. 

We  gathered  at  the  docks  the  next  morning.  Many  white 
ribboners  and  friends  followed  to  bid  us  bon  voyage. 

I was  accompanied  to  the  docks  by  that  most  kind-hearted 
and  courteous  gentleman,  Prof.  H.  T.  Kealing,  editor  of  the 
A.  M.  E.  Review.  As  the  vessel  was  leaving  its  mooring, 
handkerchiefs  and  flags  were  waved  and  the  hymn,  “God  be 
with  you  until  we  meet  again,”  made  the  welkin  ring  by  those 
on  land  till  they  could  be  no  longer  seen  nor  heard. 

The  steamer  “Belgenland”  left  Dock  54,  Philadelphia,  Pa., 
on  June  9th,  at  10:30  a.  m.  About  2 o’clock  we  went  aground 
on  Danbecker’s  Shoal.  At  6 o’clock  the  tide  came  and  we  float- 
ed off.  At  ten  p.  m.  the  pilot  left  us  at  the  breakwater,  and  the 
purser  told  us  we  were  lost  to  the  world  until  we  reached  Liv- 
erpool. Our  little  party  left  for  our  staterooms  with  lumps 
rising  in  our  throats,  feeling  we  could  only  look  to  God  for  safe 
deliverance  from  the  perils  of  the  deep  until  our  journey  ended. 

Sunday,  June  10th,  was  a lovely  day.  At  seven  a.  m.  the 
captain  sent  off  a carrier  pigeon  with  a message.  At  10:30  a. 
m.  he  held  the  Episcopal  services  in  the  dining  saloon,  after 
which  we  enjoyed  a hearty  lunch.  At  twelve  the  sea  was 
choppy,  and  we  found  it  much  pleasanter  to  sit  in  the  ladies’ 
cabin  and  chat  and  read.  We  were  always  ready  to  eat  when 
the  bell  called  us,  which  was  three  times  a day  and  tea  at  nine 
p.  m. 

I led  the  first  W.  C.  T.  U.  meeting  on  board  the  ship,  and 
made  up  the  program  for  the  week. 


THE  VOYAGE 


59 


Monday,  July  nth,  was  another  lovely  day.  The  sea  was 
a beautiful  blue,  and  clear  as  glass.  My  room-mates,  Mrs. 
Lawson  of  Washington,  D.  C.,  and  Miss  M.  Lynch  of  North 
Carolina,  and  I were  getting  on  nicely.  There  were  a few  sick 
on  board.  All  told  we  numbered  183  souls,  counting  the  ship’s 
crew,  which  consisted  of  87.  Miss  Winston  led  the  W.  C.  T. 
U.  meeting  at  the  noon  hour. 

Tuesday,  the  12th,  was  a beautiful  day.  Miss  Lynch  be- 
came sea-sick,  although  she  didn’t  own  it.  I was  not  feeling 
so  very  well  after  breakfast  and  took  a chair  on  deck  await- 
ing the  terror  of  sea-sickness,  while  Mrs.  Adams  of  Roches- 
ter, N.  Y.,  one  of  the  underground  railway  agents  of  never- 
to-be-forgotten  slavery  days,  talked  to  me  of  her  father  and 
his  kindness  to  a suffering  race. 

Our  pleasant  chat  was  interrupted  by  her  being  called  to 
lead  the  noonday  meeting  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  Mrs.  Joseph 
Philips  of  Washington,  Pa.,  another  of  our  party,  was  the  most 
cheerful  on  board.  She  was  like  a bright  little  bird,  here,  there 
and  everywhere  with  a pleasant  word  for  all. 

Wednesday,  the  13th,  was  a windy  day,  the  sea  becoming 
so  rough  from  the  great  whitecaps  leaping  over  one  another, 
it  was  very  hard  to  walk  on  deck.  ’Twas  then  I began  to 
know  what  sea-sickness  was.  My  friends  advised  me  what 
to  do,  and  told  me  I should  have  brought  “Amos  Fruit  Salts” 
along  and  I would  have  been  all  right,  but  that  advice  came 
too  late  for  I was  then  at  sea.  A slight  drizzle  set  in  and  we 
hurried  to  the  dining  saloon  where  it  was  warm  and  there 
we  remained  until  bedtime.  Miss  Lynch  led  the  noonday 
prayer. 

On  Thursday,  the  14th,  a clear  day,  we  sighted  a ship  west- 
bound, the  first  we  had  seen  since  we  left  Philadelphia.  We 
greeted  it  cheerfully  as  it  broke  the  monotony  of  our  voyage, 
having  seen  nothing  but  sky  and  water  for  five  days.  Our 
captain  saluted  the  ship  as  we  passed.  Mrs.  Roberts  led  the 
noonday  meeting. 

Friday,  the  15th,  was  as  bleak  and  cold  as  a winter  day. 
The  sea  was  filled  with  large  pieces  of  ice.  I was  glad  I had 
brought  some  winter  underwear  along,  and  had  a large  golf 
cape  which  felt  quite  comfortable  even  though  this  was  the 
first  summer  month. 

We  crowded  into  the  cabin  trying  to  keep  warm.  Mrs. 
Lawson  led  the  noontide  prayer  meeting,  while  Mrs.  Haviland 
of  Philadelphia  sang  some  sacred  solos. 


60 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


Saturday,  the  16th,  was  a dreary  day.  We  were  still 
cooped  up  in  the  dining  saloon.  Mrs.  Pierson  led  the  noontide 
meeting.  It  was  the  best  we  had  had,  so  full  of  the  Christ, 
spirit. 

On  Sunday,  the  17th,  it  was  still  raining.  After  break- 
fast we  went  into  the  dining  saloon  where  the  Episcopal  ser- 
vices were  read  by  the  captain  with  responses  by  the  passengers. 
The  closing  hymn,  “Lead  Kindly  Light,”  was  sung  and  seemed 
appropriate  on  this  dreary  day  out  on  the  ocean. 

Monday,  the  18th,  dawned  bright  and  clear  and  we  were 
feeling  much  better.  The  steamer  “Oceanic”  had  just  passed 
us,  bound  east,  as  we  were,  to  Liverpool,  but  was  much  faster 
than  our  ship.  Mrs.  Porter  of  Texas  led  the  noontide  meeting, 
from  which  we  were  called  to  see  a large  sailing  vessel  which 
seemed  like  a large  five-story  white  house  being  rocked  in  the 
cradle  of  the  deep.  At  night  we  had  a concert  for  the  benefit 
of  the  Seamen’s  Orphanage.  The  passengers  furnished  the 
program,  which  was  excellent.  An  admission  fee  of  twenty- 
five  cents  was  charged,  which  netted  the  sum  of  $32. 

Tuesday,  the  19th,  was  another  dreary,  wet  day.  Mrs. 
Clark  of  Baltimore  led  the  noontide  prayer  meeting.  The 
evening  was  pleasantly  spent  with  Miss  Gilmore  writing  verses 
in  our  albums.  At  nine  p.  m.  it  was  not  yet  dark  but  we  went 
to  bed  and  talked  about  the  many  tips  we  were  expected  to 
make  and  the  many  designs  on  our  purses.  In  imagination  we 
saw  ourselves  held  up  on  every  side.  We  were  expected  to  tip 
three  persons  at  least  fifty  cents  or  two  shillings,  the  steward- 
ess, the  bedroom  steaward  and  our  waiter  at  the  table.  We 
then  thanked  the  Lord  there  were  no  more. 

Wednesday,  the  20th,  the  breakfast  bell  rang  and  the  bed- 
room steward  called  out  in  stentorian  tones,  “Land  ahead !” 
There  was  a scramble  to  get  on  deck  to  see  it  but  only  to  find  it 
a ruse  of  his  to  get  us  up  quickly,  and  he  succeeded  admirably. 
It  was  a lovely  day.  Mrs.  Chambers,  president  of  Pennsyl- 
vania W.  C.  T.  U.,  stated  on  account  of  passengers  packing  to 
get  off  at  Queenstown,  we  would  not  have  our  devotional  exer- 
cises that  day  and  we  were  disappointed.  We  sighted  land  for 
the  first  time  at  two  o’clock.  It  looked  like  a bank  of  white 
clouds.  It  was  the  coast  of  Ireland,  about  fifty  miles  from 
Queenstown.  As  we  got  nearer  the  passengers  crowded  the 
deck.  It  seemed  like  brown  rock.  Then  we  discerned  the 
emerald-like  green  grass  and  we  knew  why  it  was  called  “Em- 


AT  THE  CONVENTION 


61 


erald  Isle.’’  The  lighthouse  looked  beautiful  as  it  threw  its 
rays  out  into  the  ocean  and  we  saw  the  dangerous  rocks  that 
lined  the  shore.  Beyond  we  saw  the  fields  of  Ireland  beauti- 
fully laid  out,  looking  like  a great  quilt  of  brown  patchwork  of 
light  green,  dark  green,  yellow  and  red.  At  about  ten  o’clock 
p.  m.  we  reached  Queenstown.  It  brought  us  the  first  news 
from  the  world  to  which  we  had  been  lost  for  eleven  days.  A 
shout  went  up  as  we  heard  McKinley  had  been  renominated  for 
the  presidency  of  the  United  States.  The  lights  looked  so 
pretty  from  the  city,  we  thought  if  these  lights  failed  to  shine 
out,  how  many  souls  on  this  ship  would  have  been  lost  against 
the  rocky  shore.  We  were  reminded  of  the  Christians,  whom 
God  has  chosen  as  lights.  We  got  to  bed  at  twelve  o’clock, 
tired  out  from  sitting  up  to  see  our  newly-made  friends  ashore. 

Thursday,  the  21st,  we  were  out  to  sea  again  making  our 
way  to  Liverpool.  At  twelve  o’clock  p.  m.  we  sighted  Holy- 
head,  and  it,  too,  was  a welcome  sight,  for  we  were  not  far 
from  Liverpool.  Soon  we  steamed  up  the  river  Mersey.  Here, 
of  course,  we  had  our  little  trials,  one  of  which  was  being 
held  up  by  the  customs  officials.  We  were  glad  to  land, 
though  we  somewhat  regretted  leaving  our  ocean  home  of 
nearly  two  weeks’  residence.  But  such  is  life ; nothing  here 
below  can  last  always.  We  had  just  finished  dinner,  so  we 
must  tip,  get  our  hats  and  go  ashore.  We  performed  this 
duty  and  were  thankful  to  be  delivered  from  another  trial  of 
our  voyage. 

This  is  Liverpool,  one  of  the  largest  commercial  centers  of 
the  world,  miles  and  miles  of  dock  with  a countless  number  of 
steamers  and  craft  of  every  description  and  kind.  After  eight 
hours’  ride  from  Liverpool,  we  arrived  at  Edinburgh,  Scotland, 
at  seven  a.  m.,  June  22,  1900. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

AT  THE  CONVENTION. 

We  waited  in  the  station  sitting  room  at  Edinburgh  until 
the  W.  C.  T.  U.  entertainment  committee  came  to  give  us  the 
address  of  our  hostess.  At  last  Mrs.  Waugh,  the  lady  who  was 
to  direct,  came  and  sent  me  in  a cab  to  Miss  Hog  of  Dun  Edin 
House,  Murrayfield,  where,  after  a twenty-minute  ride,  I ar- 
rived. The  cabman  rang,  the  lodge-keeper  opened  the  gate  and 
we  drove  through  a line  of  pretty  chestnut  trees,  the  limbs  of 
which  reached  the  ground,  and  stood  before  the  door  of  a 


62 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


house  overlooking  a beautiful  garden.  Many  white  pigeons  in 
a house  nearby,  came  out  cooing,  seemingly  to  inquire  the  mean- 
ing of  this  intrusion.  A maid  came,  took  my  card,  invited  me 
to  a seat  in  the  drawing  room  while  she  went  to  apprise  the 
hostess  of  my  arrival.  What  a pretty  room ! A large  glass 
window  divided  it  from  the  flower  room,  which  was  one  mass 
of  the  loveliest  plants  in  full  bloom.  While  I was  lost  in  ad- 
miration my  hostess  came  forward.  She  was  a neat  little  lady 
about  five  feet  tall  and  about  fifty  years  of  age.  Smiling  pleas- 
antly, she  gave  me  a warm  greeting.  I was  quite  sure  then  I 
should  love  her.  Just  then  another  member  of  the  family 
came  in.  It  was  Charlie,  her  pet  dog.  In  his  language  he 
said  he  liked  me  and  I could  stay.  The  maid,  Mary,  took  my 
luggage  upstairs  to  my  room,  a real  cozy  little  place  where  a 
large  bunch  of  flowers  greeted  me  from  the  dresser  which  set 
under  a high  window.  How  very  glad  I was  to  be  in  a com- 
fortable room  once  more,  after  having  slept  for  thirteen  long 
nights  on  a shelf  in  a stateroom  which  was  dignified  with  the 
name  of  a bed  ! Having  finished  my  toilet  I was  ready  for  the 
great  convention.  The  luncheon  bell  rang,  I started  to  go  down 
stairs  but,  dear  me,  I could  not  get  rid  of  the  motion  of  the 
ship.  Although  I was  sure  I was  on  shore  I had  not  my  land 
legs  and  felt  as  though  the  earth  was  coming  up  to  meet  me 
and  was  almost  afraid  I would  roll  down  the  steps  instead  of 
walking.  Though  much  in  dread,  I grasped  the  stair  rail  and 
reached  the  last  step  safely.  After  lunch  my  hostess  and  I 
went  to  the  Assembly  Hall  where  the  great  International 
World’s  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  was  held. 
What  a large  place,  seating  about  five  thousand  people  and 
every  seat  filled ! I passed  up  my  credentials  to  the  President, 
Lady  Henry  Somerset.  My  two  friends,  Miss  Lynch  and  Mrs. 
Lawson,  came  in  and  we  three  were  the  only  persons  of  color 
in  that  large  assembly.  It  seemed  as  if  everyone  was  looking 
at  us.  We  knew  colored  people  were  very  scarce  in  Scotland, 
and  therefore  we  paid  no  attention  to  their  curious  though 
pleasant  gaze.  At  the  close  of  the  session  I was  pressed  by 
many  ladies  to  attend  the  reception  given  by  the  British 
W.  C.  T.  U.,  in  their  cafe,  at  No.  70  Princes  street,  but  I was 
anxious  to  get  back  to  my  cozy  room  and  bed,  so  I slipped 
away. 

Saturday  morning  came  only  too  soon.  I should  like  so 
much  to  have  remained  in  bed  a little  longer,  but  I had  to  get 


AT  THE  CONVENTION 


63 


ready  and  be  away  to  the  convention.  Very  little  was  done 
that  day  other  than  presentations  of  greetings  from  various  or- 
ganizations. This  was  over  at  five  p.  m.  We  went  to  a recep- 
tion five  miles  out  of  town,  at  the  Hydro,  with  a walk  of  an 
additional  mile  after  leaving  the  cars ; we  returned  in  a drizzling 
rain  for  which  Scotland  is  famous.  Arriving  at  home,  my 
hostess  met  me  at  the  door  and  informed  me  that  I was  to  go 
to  Balernor,  about  six  miles  out  of  town.  The  cars  did  not  run 
on  Sundays,  hence  I had  to  leave  for  this  place  within  fifty 
minutes  as  the  last  train  left  at  9:30  p.  m.  Saturday.  I was  to 
return  on  Monday  morning.  At  this  news  I looked  so  gloomy 
that  she  said  I should  not  go  that  night.  “I  shall  take  you  in 
my  carriage  to-morrow  at  six  p.  m.,  to  speak  for  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Scott.”  Of  course  I was  delighted  and  made  myself  at  ease 
for  the  night. 

Sunday  was  bright  and  clear.  We  had  a hearty  breakfast, 
after  which  my  hostess  read  a selection  from  the  Bible  and  we 
had  prayers.  We  then  donned  our  hats  for  St.  George’s  Pres- 
byterian Church,  a large  grey-stone  building,  sitting  on  a corner 
with  the  loveliest  chimes  ringing  out.  We  entered  and  sat  for 
about  twenty  minutes  listening  to  the  blind  organist  sending 
forth  such  sweet,  plaintive  strains.  The  minister  came  in 
from  a side  door  to  the  rostrum  and  we  listened  to  a touching 
sermon  from  Rev.  Mr.  White.  Then  the  communion,  and  oh, 
how  solemn,  as  the  cup  was  passed  to  over  a thousand  people  ! 
After  the  services  we  returned  home  to  dinner.  Afterwards  we 
prepared  to  go  through  a driving  rain  to  Balernor  where  I felt 
as  if  I were  going  for  nothing,  for  what  audience  could  be  ex- 
pected in  such  a pouring  rain  ! We  at  last  drove  up  to  the  door 
of  the  manse  (parsonage).  The  beadel  (sexton),  a sleepy  look- 
ing fellow,  came  out  to  meet  us  and  led  us  to  the  door  where 
the  minister’s  wife  bade  us  come  into  the  manse  and  get  a cup 
of  tea,  which  was  quite  welcome  after  our  long  cold  ride,  the 
wife  and  daughter  serving  us. 

Six  o’clock  came,  the  hour  for  service ; it  was  still  raining. 
A few  steps  brought  us  to  the  vestry  at  the  rear  of  the  pulpit. 
The  minister  explained  that  because  of  the  wet  weather  we 
need  not  expect  many  people.  He  was  an  old  gentleman  with 
a Scotch  flavor  to  all  he  did  and  said.  Well,  we  left  the  vestry 
for  the  rostrum,  ushered  by  the  beadle,  and  to  my  surprise 
nearly  two  hundred  people  were  waiting,  having  walked  in  the 
rain  to  hear  me,  as  it  had  been  advertised  on  Saturday  that  I 


64 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


would  speak.  No  papers  are  printed  in  Edinburgh  on  Sunday. 

I delivered  an  address  of  forty-five  minutes.  The  audience 
was  moved  to  tears  when  I related  some  of  my  experiences  in 
prison  work.  The  collection  was  given  to  the  British  W.  C.  T. 
U.  We  bade  the  minister  and  wife  good-bye  and  took  our  six 
miles’  ride  back,  the  rain  continuing.  The  scenery  around 
Balernor  is  very  pretty  with  its  quaintly  built  stone  houses  with 
red  tiled  roofs.  The  sheep  were  grazing  on  the  many  hills, 
some  of  them  200  feet  high.  At  last  we  reached  home  and  we 
were  served  another  cup  of  tea,  and  in  a little  while  were  off 
to  bed  for  a much-needed  rest. 

Monday,  nine  a.  m.,  found  me  again  at  the  convention. 
Mrs.  Stevens,  president  of  the  United  States  W.  C.  T.  U.,  wa9 
in  the  chair.  At  the  close  of  the  morning  session,  about  one 
o’clock,  Rev.  Mr.  Sutherland  and  wife,  who  were  entertaining 
my  friends,  Miss  Lynch  and  Mrs.  Lawson,  invited  me  to  go 
with  them  to  visit  the  Edinburgh  Castle.  Of  course  I was  glad 
to  go ; and  passing  by  the  quaint  looking  Scottish  soldiers  with 
their  short,  pleated  plaid-skirts  reaching  just  above  their  knees, 
queer  oval-shaped  caps  on  their  heads,  and  swords  dangling  at 
their  sides.  We  climbed  up  in  this  building  until  I thought  I 
could  ascend  no  further,  but  at  last,  we  reached  the  crown- 
room,  where  the  jewels  of  the  ill-fated  Mary  Queen  of  Scots 
are  enclosed  in  a large  glass  case,  with  an  iron  fence  around  it. 
They  still  show  their  original  rich  brilliancy.  The  crown  is 
thickly  set  with  jewels  of  every  color.  We  left  here  and  visited 
her  bedroom  where  her  son  was  born,  and  lowered  from  the 
window  to  the  ground,  a distance  of  about  300  feet,  by  means 
of  which  the  enemy  was  foiled  for  the  time  being.  What  a 
small  bedroom  this  Queen  had  ! It  was  about  six  feet  wide  and 
nine  feet  long,  with  one  window  and  a door.  After  this  we 
visited  St.  Margaret’s  Chapel  on  the  same  hill.  We  sat  on  the 
stone  wall  and  looked  down  300  feet  at  the  passers-by  on 
Princes  street,  the  most  beautiful  I have  ever  seen.  How  beau- 
tiful is  the  view  from  this  wall ! The  garden  below  was  full  of 
flowers,  the  trees  were  robed  in  leaves  of  bright  fresh  green, 
the  birds  were  flying  in  and  out.  Mr.  Sutherland  said  we  must 
have  our  pictures  taken  here,  so  we  posed  on  the  steps  of  the 
chapel  while  he  pointed  his  kodak  at  us.  So  enchanted  were 
we  that  we  spent  more  time  there  than  we  should  have,  and  we 
hurried  back  to  the  hall.  Our  lunch  hour  had  passed.  The 
presentations,  though,  wTere  not  over.  We  sat  and  waited  our 


AT  THE  CONVENTION 


65 


turn.  Mrs.  Lawson  was  presented  and.  made  a neat  little 
speech  which  the  audience  applauded.  Then  I was  presented 
by  Lady  Henry,  behind  whom  I had  been  standing.  I bowed 
and  started  away,  when  she  asked  me  to  address  them.  I made 
a three  minutes’  talk  and  stepped  down.  It  seemed  as  if  those 
5,000  people  would  bring  the  hall  down  on  me  with  applause. 
I was  called  back  by  Lady  Henry,  and  thanked  them  for  their 
kind  reception.  Still  they  applauded.  We  sang  a hymn,  and 
left  for  a reception  at  the  Royal  Terrace,  where  we  spent  a 
delightful  hour,  then  left  for  home. 

Tuesday  at  ten  a.  m.  found  us  again  at  the  convention, 
Mrs.  Stevens  in  the  chair.  Miss  Lynch  was  presented  and 
made  a pleasant  speech  which  was  greatly  applauded.  At  the 
luncheon  hour  we  were  treated  to  a carriage  ride  to  Holy  Rood 
Castle,  the  home  of  Queen  Mary.  We  were  shown  the  beauti- 
ful tapestry  which  barely  holds  together,  and  seems  ready  to 
fall  at  any  moment.  The  pictures  of  John  Knox  and  Queen 
Mary  face  each  other.  Darnley,  her  husband,  and  his  little 
son,  hang  on  the  wall  alone.  We  were  shown  into  their  bed- 
rooms. The  guide  showed  us  spots  of  blood  on  the  floor  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  which  he  said  was  the  blood  of  Rossi, 
spilled  there  the  night  he  was  assassinated  by  Queen  Mary’s 
husband.  I laughed  and  asked  him  if  he  thought  I could  be- 
lieve, after  hundreds  of  years,  those  blood  stains  were  those  of 
poor  Rossi,  the  musician.  After  seeing  it  was  useless  to  try 
further  to  have  us  believe  his  story,  he  said : “Well,  marm,  sure 
you  have  good  sense  ;the  relic-hunters  cut  the  spots  out  of  the 
floor  long  ago,  again  and  again,  and  we  had  to  put  old  boards  in 
the  place  and  keep  on  sprinkling  red  ink  on  them,  for  the  curi- 
ous public  demands  to  see  the  spot,  and  we  had  to  oblige  them.” 

We  went  down  into  the  old  chapel  adjoining  the  castle. 
Only  the  walls  stand.  Here  we  saw  the  graves  of  the  Scottish 
royalty.  The  headstones  were  weather -beaten  and  uncared  for. 
We  then  started  for  the  gate  and  as  Mr.  Sutherland  did  not  see 
how  he  could  allow  us  to  pass  from  so  historic  a spot  without 
taking  some  memento,  he  lined  us  up  again  in  front  of  the  door 
and  took  our  pictures  standing  in  the  gate  of  Holy  Rood  Castle^ 
We  then  went  to  the  House  of  Parliament  which  was  in  session. 
Lord  McDonald  presiding.  It  looked  so  strange  to  see  all  the 
advocates  before  the  bar  with  their  long  black  gowns  reaching 
to  the  floor  and  white  curled  wigs  on  their  heads.  We  were 
hurried  away  to  see  the  library,  which  is  an  immense  building. 


66 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


I am  sure  one  would  die  of  paresis  should  he  try  to  read 
one-half  of  one-tenth  of  those  books. 

I saw  a mummy  standing  in  a glass  case,  said  to  be  Pha- 
raoh’s daughter,  the  foster  mother  of  Moses.  We  left  here  for 
the  street  where  John  Knox  is  buried  in  front  of  St.  Giles 
Church,  all  the  vehicles  passing  over  the  spot.  The  great  man 
of  God  has  a strange  resting  place.  It  was  then  two  o’clock, 
and  we  had  to  hurry  back  to  the  hall  for  the  evening  session. 
They  were  hearing  reports  from  the  many  superintendents; 
and  they  were  all  splendid,  showing  what  a grand  work  these 
women  were  doing.  We  adjourned,  and  my  hostess  hurried 
me  home  where  we  prepared  to  attend  the  reception  given  by 
Hon.  Mitchell  Thompson,  the  Lord  Provost  of  Scotland,  as- 
sisted by  his  magistrates  and  Council,  for  the  International  W. 
C.  T.  U.  delegates. 

As  we  arrived  within  two  squares  of  the  Art  Museum 
where  the  reception  was  being  held,  our  carriage  was  placed  in 
line,  and  my ! such  a line,  almost  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see. 
We  left  our  carriage  at  the  beautifully  decorated  entrance  and 
my  hostess  preceding,  led  to  the  cloak  room  where  she  gave  me 
an  approving  look-over,  and  remarked  smilingly,  “You  are  all 
right.”  We  fell  in  line  and  were  presented  to  the  Lord  Pro- 
vost, after  which  we  were  invited  to  ices,  then  to  a seat  in  the 
gallery  where  we  had  a good  view  of  the  many  pretty  costumes 
and  listened  to  the  shrieking,  ugly  sound  of  the  bagpipes  which 
I like,  at  a distance.  At  last  we  left,  and  glad  I was  to  leave 
the  crowd.  I shall  never  be  able  to  remember  even  the  faces  of 
the  many  persons  to  whom  I was  introduced. 

Wednesday  was  another  day  of  reports  at  the  convention. 
The  superintendent  of  work  among  the  soldiers  for  the  British 
W.  C.  T.  U.,  made  a most  interesting  report.  She  had  just 
come  from  South  Africa  where  the  soldiers  were  under  fire, 
and  told  of  a Soldiers’  Rest  she  had  opened  as  a competition 
to  the  saloon,  and  how  she  had  almost  ruined  the  business  of 
the  saloonkeeper.  After  a little  routine  business  we  clasped 
hands  in  a circle  round  that  large  hall  in  one  unbroken  chain. 
Then  sang,  “God  be  with  you  till  we  meet  again,”  received  the 
benediction  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sutherland  and  parted — some  to 
meet  in  the  next  biennial,  others  around  the  great  white  throne 

Thursday  we  spent  the  day  sight-seeing.  The  governor 
of  the  prison,  Mr.  Cristie,  invited  me  to  the  prison  where  I re- 
mained from  nine  a.  m.  till  noon,  and  attended  the  chapel  ser- 
vices. The  chaplain  read  a scripture  lesson,  then  several 


AT  THE  CONVENTION 


67 


hymns  were  sung.  We  united  in  prayer  and  after  a good  ser- 
vice the  prisoners  were  sent  into  the  yard  for  physical  exer- 
cises. I found  them  separated  and  all  nice  and  clean.  The 
matron  informed  me  that  the  majority  of  the  women  were  in 
for  drinking.  The  women  are  occupied  in  the  prison  sewing 
sacks  by  machine.  The  prison  authorities  get  twenty- four 
cents  per  hundred,  and  all  over  the  hundred  goes  to  the  female 
prisoner.  These  extras  are  saved  up  until  the  prisoners  are  re- 
leased, so  that  they  may  not  be  penniless.  The  cells  occupied 
by  the  female  prisoners  are  about  five  feet  wide  and  seven  long, 
with  two  little  tables  placed  lengthwise  on  which  is  placed  a sack 
of  grass,  forming  a soft  bed.  They  have  two  warm  blankets,  a 
cup,  a basin,  towel,'  stool  and  a wooden  spoon.  No  one  is  aL 
lowed  in  the  cells  but  the  matron  who  holds  the  keys. 

Leaving  the  prison,  I visited  the  historic  cemetery  which 
is  near  by.  I found  here  among  other  noted  statues,  a large 
one  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  with  a slave  kneeling  at  his  feet.  At 
the  base  of  this  statue  the  inscription : “Erected  in  memory  of 
the  Scottish  soldiers  who  fell  in  the  American  War  for  the  lib- 
erty of  their  colored  brethren.”  Of  course  my  heart  was  touch-1 
ed  and  I thanked  God  for  those  noble  men  who  sacrificed  their 
lives  for  this  much  despised  and  downtrodden  race,  who  died, 
as  it  were,  that  we  might  live  and  who  believed  that  God  cre- 
ated all  men  alike.  All  honor  and  praise  to  those  martyrs.  My 
heart  felt  drawn  so  much  nearer  to  the  Scotch  people. 

I left  for  the  convention  hall  to  meet  Mrs.  Saleeby,  the 
around-the-world  missionary,  who  invited  me  to  luncheon  with 
her.  She  showed  me  a great  many  relics  from  Bethlehem  and 
gave  me  a flower  from  Nazareth.  She  made  an  engagement 
for  me  to  speak  at  the  Dean  Street  Church.  I hurried  home  to 
meet  some  ladies  whom  my  hostess  had  invited  to  tea.  We 
passed  a most  pleasant  evening  in  the  garden. 

Friday,  I remained  indoors  to  rest  and  answer  letters.  My 
hostess  gave  me  the  family  history.  She  is  the  daughter  of  the 
late  Baronet  Hog  and  a direct  relative  of  King  William  IV, 
who  held  the  throne  just  prior  to  her  Majesty,  Queen  Victoria. 
Yet  my  hostess  was  not  the  least  haughty  but  a noble  Christian 
lady  who  is  as  kind  to  her  servants  as  can  be,  and  whom  they 
love  dearly.  Her  lovely  home  is  her  joy.  The  garden  is  filled 
with  a variety  of  the  most  exquisite  flowers,  which  she  gathers 
by  baskets  every  day  and  sends  to  the  many  infirmaries.  Then 
she  has  a gem  flower  always  ready  for  the  shop  girls  she  meets, 
even  the  conductors  and  the  cabby  must  have  a buttonhole 


68 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


bouquet.  She  has  a home  for  poor  crippled  girls  for  whom 
she  cares,  teaching  them  dressmaking,  and  helping  them  to  help 
themselves.  A matron  who  is  a kindly  middle-aged  woman, 
watches  over  this  home.  She  gives  a garden  party  every  week 
for  the  working  girls,  a different  set  each  week.  I was  delight- 
ed to  hear  her  speak.  My  hostess  was  continually  planning 
some  new  pleasure  for  me,  and  often  when  I stood  enraptured 
by  some  beautiful  scenery  to  which  she  had  called  my  attention 
I would  hear  her  cheerful  voice  calling,  “Come  away,  how,  and 
see  this  a bit.”  I would  smile  and  go  to  her  side.  One  could 
not  help  loving  her.  By  this  constant  attention,  which  often 
took  the  tangible  form  of  some  little  gift  which  was  just  what 
I needed  (and  wondered  how  she  knew  I needed  it),  I was  won 
to  admire  and  sincerely  love  her.  My  week  was  uo  and  I had 
planned  to  leave,  but  she  said,  “Nay,  stav  another  week;  I want 
you.” 

Sunday  I attended  church  with  her  and  heard  the  other 
minister,  Mr.  Black,  for  her  church  was  large  enough  to  re- 
quire the  services  of  two  ministers,  both  of  whom  were  kept 
busy  during  the  week  attending  needy  members.  After  services 
and  dinner  at  home  we  went  to  the  Cripple  Children’s  Home, 
kept  by  my  hostess,  and  where  I had  been  advertised  to  speak. 
At  six  o’clock  p.  m.  I entered  the  assembly  room  which  was 
filled  with  an  expectant  audience,  and  as  I spoke  many  were 
moved  to  tears.  The  children  afterward  crowded  around  and 
begged  me  to  sing  one  more  hymn;  this  I did  before  leaving. 

Monday  we  visited  John  Knox’s  house.  Having  reached 
the  house  of  this  fearless  Christian  we  ascended  the  stairs  and 
met  the  keeper  at  the  door,  a little  old  stout  Scotch  woman 
whose  eyes  were  filled  with  water  and  nose  full  of  snuff.  We 
gave  her  sixpence  and  passed  into  the  room  where  John  Knox, 
the  galley  slave  who  broke  a nation’s  fetters,  died.  As  we 
looked  over  this  sacred  apartment  we  were  touched  with  the 
simplicity  of  the  scantily  furnished  place,  utterly  devoid  of 
comfort ; the  ceilings  so  low  that  one  can  reach  up  and  touch 
them.  Here  is  the  picture  of  John  Knox  preaching  to  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  in  the  St.  Giles  Church,  and  underneath  the 
words  he  used  in  his  sermon  in  the  year  1560,  that  caused 
Mary  to  become  so  indignant.  What  that  great  man  must  have 
suffered  cannot  fully  be  realized  until  the  surroundings  have 
been  visited  and  seen  as  they  were  in  that  day.  Then  we  can 
understand  what  he  sacrificed  for  his  belief  in  religious  liberty. 


AT  THE  CONVENTION 


69 


He  chose  this  motto  for  the  Church  of  Scotland : Matthew 
xxiv:  14. 

We  left  here  and  went  home  to  prepare  for  a reception 
tendered  Miss  Johannis  Dottir  of  Iceland  and  myself.  We 
reached  the  home  of  Mrs.  Heron  where  we  spent  a delightful 
evening.  I told  of  my  prison  work,  the  audience  seemed  spell- 
bound. I sat  down  amid  a storm  of  applause.  How  pleasant 
to  know  that  some  one  is  in  sympathy  with  you  in  an  undertak- 
ing that  is  by  no  means  popular ! The  little  Icelander  threw 
her  arms  about  me  and  kissed  me  good-bye  at  the  conclusion 
and  expressed  a fond  hope  of  meeting  me  again.  My  hostess 
took  my  arm  and  we  were  off.  It  was  raining  but  we  reached 
home  and  found  Mary,  the  faithful  maid,  had  made  a cheerful 
fire  in  the  dining  room  and  had  a hot  supper,  both  of  which 
were  very  much  enjoyed.  After  tea  the  bell  was  rung,  the  ser- 
vants filed  in,  and  Miss  Hog  read  the  Bible.  We  knelt  in  pray- 
er, then  off  to  bed  I went  with  the  sound  of  her  kindly  “glide 
night’’  ringing  like  music  in  my  ears. 

Tuesday  we  remained  in  all  day.  As  night  approached  I 
prepared  to  go  to  the  Dean  Street  Church  Hall  where  I filled  an 
engagement  made  by  Mrs.  Saleeby.  My  hostess  sent  me  off 
early  in  the  carriage  to  Rev.  Mr.  Anderson’s  home,  where  I was 
to  have  tea  with  a few  friends  whom  Mrs.  Anderson  had  invit- 
ed to  meet  me  before  I went  to  the  hall.  Arriving  there  I met 
the  friends  and  had  a chat  with  them.  Rev.  Mr.  Anderson 
tendered  his  services  to  take  me  to  a few  places  of  historic  in- 
terest; we  made  an  appointment  for  Wednesday,  ten  a.  m.  Tea 
over,  we  left  for  the  hall.  Although  it  was  raining,  the  large 
hall  was  nearly  filled.  After  singing  by  the  choir,  Rev.  Mr. 
Anderson  introduced  me.  I spoke  to  a poor  class  of  people  and 
endeavored  to  say  what  I thought  would  interest  them  most. 
They  seemed  deeply  interested.  After  dismission  many  lin- 
gered to  shake  my  hand  and  to  whisper,  “God  bless  and  watch 
over  you.”  My  hostess,  with  the  minister,  his  wife  and  I. 
agreed  to  take  a stroll  through  the  gardens,  which  are  very 
beautiful.  We  reached  the  gate,  and  ascended  Dean  Street 
bridge,  from  the  center  of  which  we  had  a fair  view  of  the 
gardens.  The  sight  was  most  picturesque.  The  walk  of  red 
pebbles  five  feet  in  width  winds  its  way  in  and  out  the  garden 
shrubbery  and  flowers.  Two  hundred  feet  below  flows  the 
water  of  Leith  tumbling  over  the  rocks.  I am  told  a good 
many  persons  have  committed  suicide  by  leaping  over  the  rail- 


70 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


ings  of  the  bridge  into  the  rocky  bed  of  the  Leith.  The  scene 
below  is  indeed  inviting  for  as  I leaned  over  the  rail  a peculiar 
feeling  came  over  me.  I was  fascinated  with  the  scenery.  The 
wind  moaning  in  the  trees,  the  faint  sound  of  the  running  wa- 
ter, all  seem  to  beckon  one  to  become  a part  by  stepping  over 
the  rail.  My  hostess,  knowing  the  fatal  influence  this  scenery 
has  over  one  who  dares  to  linger  over  it,  grew  fearful  for  me 
and  said : “Come  away,  now ; we  must  hasten,  it  is  late.”  Still 
I could  not  realize  it,  for  although  it  was  ten  o’clock  p.  m.,  one 
could  easily  read  without  a light.  The  twilight  here  is  very 
long.  We  hurried  home  to  supper,  then  to  prayers  and  to  bed. 

Wednesday  morning  dawned  clear  and  bright.  With  rain- 
coat on  my  arm  and  umbrella  in  hand,  after  breakfast,  I went 
sight-seeing  with  Rev.  Mr.  Anderson.  I went  thus  prepared 
for  the  rainlike  mist  for  which  Scotland  is  noted  even  on  the 
prettiest  day.  When  one  least  expects  the  skies  of  Scotland 
weep. 

Rev.  Mr.  Anderson  sought  to  have  me  visit  the  most  inter- 
esting places  and  accordingly  took  me  over  to  the  Presbytery 
Synod,  a spacious  building  in  which  are  kept  antiquated  relics 
of  the  early  Protestant  churches.  Some  of  the  oldest  pulpits 
of  Scotland  are  stored  here,  and  valuable  manuscripts  as  me- 
mentoes of  “ye  auld  lang  syne.”  Here  I was  introduced  to  Mr. 
Buchanan,  the  Grand  Secretary  of  the  Presbyterian  Church. 
After  looking  over  Bibles  nearly  a thousand  years  old,  we  left 
to  visit  the  Royal  Infirmary  where  I saw  a few  gruesome  sights 
of  which  I soon  tired  and  left,  as  I did  not  desire  to  keep  com- 
pany with  the  dead. 

We  left  here  and  walked  through  the  old  grass  market.  I 
stood  on  the  stone  circle  where  the  gallows  at  one  time  were, 
and  from  which  so  many  souls,  because  of  their  religious  be- 
liefs, were  swung  into  eternity.  Then  we  strolled  through  the 
cow-gate,  a dirty,  foul-smelling  street  with  rag  stores  along  one 
side,  and  to  the  right  of  which  was  the  Magdaline  Church,  once 
the  home  of  David  Livingston,  who  gave  his  heart  to  Africa  in 
his  Christly  mission.  Here  we  saw  the  names  of  others  who 
died  for  the  same  cause.  Passing  to  the  vestry  through  a side 
door,  we  were  shown  a small  oaken  table,  about  three  feet  long, 
on  which  was  a dark  red  cloth.  It  was  on  this  table,  we  were 
told,  that  the  head  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle  was  placed  and  sev- 
ered from  the  body,  because  he  dared  to  be  a Presbyterian.  It 
is  said  the  cloth  is  the  same.  It  is  as  stiff  as  leather,  in  the  cen- 


AT  THE  CONVENTION 


71 


ter.  I tried  in  vain  with  my  fingers  to  rumple  it  where  the 
blood  is  supposed  to  have  soaked  in. 

We  next  visited  Gray  Friars  Cemetery,  which  is  just 
around  the  corner.  As  we  entered  the  city  of  the  dead,  and 
read  on  the  stone  slabs,  sacredly  erected  to  the  memories  of 
the  Christian  heroes,  we  found  a record  of  1,800  souls  put  to 
death  because  they  dared  to  worship  Christ  according  to  their 
own  belief.  Here  lie  their  bones,  awaiting  the  resurrection 
morn,  when  they  will  awake  in  the  likeness  of  Christ  for  whom 
they  died,  and  will  see  Him  as  He  is.  As  I stood  thinking  of 
their  intense  suffering  I thanked  God  that  it  is  far  different  to- 
day, that  we  need  have  no  fear  as  we  awake  in  the  morning  that 
an  order  awaits  us  to  march  to  the  guillotine  or  the  gallows. 
The  grave-diggers  were  preparing  to  plant  an  iron  post,  and 
had  unearthed  a tooth,  which  I took  as  a souvenir  of  this  spot. 
We  passed  on  to  the  grave  of  the  father  of  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
then  on  to  the  Gray  Friars  Church,  around  which  they  used  to 
bury  criminals.  In  fact,  the  churchyard  was  used  during  the 
time  of  the  beheading  of  the  duke  and  other  martyrs  as  a bury- 
ing ground  for  all  kinds  and  classes  of  criminals.  Like  our 
Lord,  these  noble  Christian  characters  were  numbered  among 
the  lowest  transgressors. 

We  left  here  to  visit  St.  Giles  Cathedral.  Entering,  we 
gave  twelve  cents  to  the  doorkeeper.  My ! what  a grand  sol- 
emn old  place  this  gray  stone  pile  is ! What  lovely  stained 
glass  windows,  with  lifelike  pictures  of  Queen  Mary  and  her 
attendants;  with  John  Knox  preaching  to  her  while  she  is  bow- 
ing, and  his  eyes  seemingly  trying  to  pierce  her  body  to  find  her 
soul  and  touch  it  with  his  religious  fervor.  Just  then  the  or- 
ganist played  a dirge.  As  the  deep  tones  swelled  and  filled 
the  church  with  its  melody,  every  nerve  in  my  body  seemed  to 
vibrate.  My  eyes  filled  with  tears  which  rolled  down  my 
cheeks  before  I knew  it.  How  sublime ! He  finished.  My 
feet  felt  planted  to  the  spot  and  my  spirit  seemed  to  grow  light. 
Rev.  Mr.  Anderson  now  showed  me  an  ivory  casket  containing 
the  remains  of  some  of  the  nobility,  dead  over  a hundred  years. 
We  passed  on  to  the  rear  of  the  church,  and  met  one  of  the 
directors,  who  was  pleased  to  see  us,  and  offered  a sniff  of  his 
snuff.  It  is  considered  quite  a condescension  for  a Scotchman 
to  offer  you  his  snuff,  but  I very  politely  declined  his  gracious 
offer.  He  gave  me  a look  which  indicated  that  “You  don’t 
know  what’s  good.”  We  then  left  for  home. 


72 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


On  our  arrival,  my  hostess  surprised  me  by  saying  I must 
wind  up  the  day’s  work  by  visiting  the  Fourth  Bridge.  Dinner 
over,  we  hurriedly  boarded  the  train  and  were  soon  at  the 
bridge.  It  is  a splendid  piece  of  mechanism,  well  and  strongly 
constructed  of  steel  and  rocks  and  good  for  many  years  to 
come.  The  scenery  around  is  very  pretty.  Charlie,  the  little 
pet  dog  of  my  hostess,  was  along.  He,  as  everyone  else,  loves 
her.  He  made  us  walk  rather  fast  by  running  ahead  and  look- 
ing back,  as  much  as  to  say:  “Hurry  on,  or  you  won’t  see  what 
I see.” 

Thursday  we  visited  the  Art  Gallery.  Mary,  the  maid, 
and  I started  about  ten  o’clock  a.  m.  Here  we  found  the  large 
hall  set  apart  for  many  things  of  historic  value  to  Edinburgh. 
First  of  all,  the  guillotine  which  was  used  to  behead  the  Duke 
of  Argyle.  This  is  a large  black  wooden  affair  which  slides  up 
and  down  about  seven  feet,  with  a huge  knife  attached.  We 
saw,  too,  a brass  thumb-screw,  used  to  torture  the  unfortunate 
prisoner  to  make  him  tell  what  he  knew  would  convict  him. 
Sometimes  the  tormentor  would  crush  the  thumb  until  it  be- 
came perfectly  flat.  Still  another  instrument  of  torture  in  the 
form  of  a ring  to  fit  around  the  throat.  This  ring  was  attached 
to  a staple  driven  in  the  wall.  This  constituted  the  stocks  in 
which  they  were  securely  placed  with  hands  and  feet  locked. 
Among  the  relics  we  found  the  pulpit  used  by  John  Knox. 
Going  from  the  hall  into  the  art  gallery  proper  we  found  the 
pictures  of  great  men  and  women.  In  another  hall  which  con- 
tains ancient  religious  relics,  were  many  mummies.  Some  were 
4,000  years  old,  lying  here  dark  and  still.  We  saw  many  gods 
made  by  the  people  of  hundreds  of  years  ago.  We  found  a 
slab  from  the  walls  of  Ninevah,  with  an  ancient  ruler  of  that 
day  offering  a kind  of  concoction  in  a bowl  to  his  particular 
god.  A eunuch  stood  by  with  a brush,  keeping  off  the  flies, 
for  it  would  be  unholy  should  a fly  fall  into  the  bowl. 

Home  again,  my  hostess  made  ready  to  entertain  a party  of 
twenty-five  young  ladies  at  tea  who  had  been  invited  from  the 
bakeshop  in  Edinburgh,  where  they  served  as  salesgirls.  Soon 
the  garden  resounded  with  their  glad  laughter.  They  were 
pleased  and  enjoyed  themselves.  After  refreshments,  we  gath- 
ered in  the  dining  room.  My  hostess  requested  me  to  sing  and 
give  them  a few  words  of  advice  and  encouragement,  which  I 
endeavored  to  do.  Finally,  the  handshaking  and  parting  was 
over  and  we  had  evening  prayers  and  went  to  rest. 


IN  GLASGOW 


73 


I spent  Friday  morning  in  packing  my  belongings,  getting 
ready  to  take  my  leave  on  the  two  p.  m.  train.  After  dinner  I 
bade  the  servants  good-bye  with  some  regret  at  leaving  these 
newly-made  friends.  My  hostess  accompanied  me,  with  Char- 
lie, who  looked  so  wistful  that  we  felt  he  must  go  along.  At 
the  station  my  hostess  met  a friend  who  was  also  going  to  Glas- 
gow ; we  were  introduced.  The  train  came  up,  the  parcels  were 
gathered  together,  I kissed  my  hostess  good-bye  with  deep  re- 
gret, for  I have  learned  to  love,  honor  and  admire  her.  A lump 
rose  in  my  throat.  Then  I remembered  I had  not  told  Charlie 
good-bye.  I looked  out  of  the  window,  patted  him  on  the  head, 
and  even  the  dog  looked  sorry  and  let  his  ears  droop  in  seemihg 
sadness  as  we  were  off  for  Glasgow. 

CHAPTER  X. 

IN  GLASGOW. 

After  speeding  through  miles  of  beautiful  scenery,  stop- 
ping a few  minutes  at  Linlithgow,  the  birthplace  of  the  ill-fated 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  we  reached  our  destination.  Such  a con- 
fusion over  baggage  that  one  is  reminded  of  a Kilkenny  cat- 
fight,  and  it  is  no  wonder  this  confusion  arises,  as  no  checks 
are  given.  This  is  not  America.  I at  once  recognized  mine, 
however.  I had  a porter  (whom  I had  to  give  a tip)  place  it 
safely  in  a cab,  and  after  a few  minutes’  ride  through  crowded 
thoroughfares,  we  arrived  at  the  Young  Women’s  Christian 
Association  Home,  where  we  were  to  be  accommodated.  The 
cabby  brought  in  my  luggage  and  I paid  him  my  fare,  but  he 
stared  at  me  as  much  as  to  say,  “My  tip.”  I gave  him  a six- 
pence. He  took  it  and  walked  away  with  his  head  well  up  as  I 
didn't  even  deserve  to  be  thanked.  My  room,  though  very 
small,  was  comfortable.  I thanked  the  Lord  I was  among 
Christians.  Better  by  far  than  I would  have  been  had  I been 
in  some  public  hotel  with  an  atmosphere  offensive  with  the  odor 
of  liquor  and  the  like. 

Saturday  was  a rainy  day,  but  I was  anxious  to  see  some 
of  the  sights,  so  I donned  my  water-proof  and  started  out  for 
the  postoffice.  I was  told  it  was  about  a ten-minute  walk.  The 
young  lady  who  volunteered  to  accompany  me,  said,  “It’s  just 
here.”  After  walking  about  a mile  in  a slow  rain,  and  when  I 
felt  like  asking  whether  she  had  lost  her  way,  she  mounted  the 
steps  of  an  ordinary  looking  building  and  we  were  at  the  post- 


74 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


office.  I purchased  stamps,  mailed  my  letters  and  we  retraced 
our  steps  to  the  Young  Women’s  Christian  Association  build- 
ing, where  we  were  glad  to  remain  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

Sunday  dawned  bright  and  clear.  At  breakfast  the  ma- 
tron, Mrs.  Grant,  whom  all  the  girls  seem  to  love  and  obey,  in- 
vited us  to  the  Bareheaded  Mission.  I asked  if  it  was  far  and 
received  the  reply  that  it  was  just  about  twenty  minutes’  walk. 
I went  with  them  and  felt  quite  sore,  for  it  was  hardly  less  than 
two  miles  on  the  hard  stones.  With  the  others,  I registered  on 
our  arrival  at  the  large  mission.  I decided  to  inquire,  though, 
what  was  meant  by  so  many  minutes’  walk,  for  if  they  said  a 
mile  I knew  it  meant  two ; if  they  said  twenty  minutes,  I should 
board  a car.  Christian  people  in  Glasgow  consider  it  a sin  to 
ride  in  a car  on  Sundays  and  on  that  day  refrain  from  patron- 
izing them. 

There  were  about  300  people  present  at  the  Bareheaded 
Mission.  Of  that  number  about  200  were  bareheaded.  I was 
told  by  the  minister,  another  Mr.  Buchanan,  that  the  members 
are  requested  to  wear  nothing  on  their  heads  when  coming  to 
the  eleven  o’clock  services,  but  tocome  in  their  working  clothes 
and  invite  anyone  upon  the  streets  to  come  along,  no  matter  how 
they  were  dressed.  In  this  way  the  slum  element  is  reached 
and  helped  to  a better  life.  By  request  I addressed  them  for 
fifteen  minutes.  They  seemed  deeply  impressed  and  asked  me 
to  address  them  again  at  night.  I at  first  declined  on  account 
of  living  so  far  away,  but  the  directress  prevailed  upon  me  to 
remain  and  dine  with  them  and  speak  again.  I spoke  and  we 
had  a good  spiritual  revival.  After  singing  a closing  hymn, 
the  benediction  was  pronounced,  then  followed  a general 
handshaking  and  we  were  off  for  our  quarters. 

Monday  was  a dreary  day  and  I was  to  speak  at  the  Bible 
Training  Institute  in  Bothwell  street.  My  rain-coat  was  again 
called  into  service  and  I reached  the  institute  in  a pouring 
rain  more  to  fill  the  engagement  than  to  find  anyone  there. 
But  I found  a fair  audience  anxiously  awaiting  my  coming. 
God’s  presence  was  again  manifested,  for  in  the  amen  cor- 
ner, as  well  as  in  the  rear,  could  be  heard,  “Praise  the  Lord,” 
“Bless  His  Holy  Name.”  After  dismission  I was  invited  by 
Mr.  Miller  to  speak  at  Finiston  Church  on  Wednesday.  I 
then  left  for  my  boarding  house  to  find  Mr.  Ross,  pastor  of 
Cowcadden  Church,  awaiting  me  to  arrange  for  me  to  speak 
at  his  church  on  Thursday  afternoon.  As  I am  working  for 


IN  GLASGOW 


75 


the  advancement  of  the  Master’s  Kingdom,  doing  in  an  hum- 
ble way  whatever  I can,  to  this  request  I also  consented. 

Tuesday  I was  invited  by  the  two  Misses  Compton  of  Cali- 
fornia to  go  with  them  to  Alloway,  the  home  of  Robert  Burns, 
the  gifted  poet.  Dr.  Gleason,  a maiden  lady  of  Buffalo,  N.  Y., 
by  request  joined  the  party.  We  went  to  the  station,  secured 
tickets  and  after  about  two  hours’  ride  we  reached  the  outskirts 
of  the  city  where  hundreds  of  soldiers’  tents  were  pitched  which 
added  more  interest  to  the  already  picturesque  scenery.  To 
the  right  were  the  Scotch  with  their  pleated  skirts  reaching  to 
the  knee,  their  caps  set  jauntily  upon  their  heads.  To  the  left 
were  great  numbers  with  dark  trousers  and  red  coats,  all  drill- 
ing and  learning  the  tactics  of  war,  to  be  sent  to  the  front  to 
protect  Her  Majesty’s  interests.  We  reached  the  station  and 
took  a cab  to  the  home  of  Burns,  about  two  miles  out  of  town. 
What  a lovely  ride  ! We  soon  reached  the  shaded  drive,  which 
was  made  more  pleasant  and  beautiful  by  the  sunbeams  creep- 
ing gently  through  the  foliage.  Our  open  conveyance  gave  us 
the  fullest  benefit  of  it  all.  Alighting  at  the  door.  Miss  Comp- 
ton, who  had  a camera,  took  our  pictures  standing  near  the 
window  just  before  we  entered  the  house.  We  entered  the 
place  and  like  the  room  of  John  Knox,  the  ceiling  was  so  low  I 
could  easily  reach  it.  In  one  corner  of  the  wall  built  like  an 
oven,  is  the  bed  in  which  the  great  Burns  was  born.  His  moth- 
er prophesied  his  future  greatness  in  these  words : 

“The  gossips  keekit  in  his  loof, 

Quo  she  who  lives  will  see  the  proof. 

This  waly  boy  will  be  nae  coof. — 

I think  we’ll  call  him  Robin.” 

We  bought  a few  mementoes,  then  made  our  way  to  th« 
monument  of  Robert  Burns  where  he  and  his  friends  sit  to- 
gether in  stone  as  they  were  wont  to  do  in  life.  We  left  here 
to  walk  down  to  the  Bonnie  Doon  river.  W e stood  on  the  old 
bridge  of  stone  said  to  be  over  700  years  old,  gazed  upon  the 
scenery  around  about  the  road  along  the  side  of  the  stream. 
Here  we  heard  the  low  murmuring  of  the  wind  among  the 
trees,  the  soft,  gentle  rippling  of  the  water,  a bird’s  sweet  notes 
and  over  all  there  seemed  to  rest  a sweet,  quiet  peace,  all  of 
which  served  to  inspire  the  poet,  for  in  speaking  of  his  love  for 
the  Doon,  he  said : 


76 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


“Oft  hae  I roved  by  Bonnie  Doon, 

To  see  the  rose  and  woodbine  twine, 

And  like  a bird  sang  of  its  love, 

And  fondly  sae  did  I o’  mine.” 

I am  reminded  of  the  thrilling  experience  of  Tam  O’Shan- 
ter’s  daring  midnight  ride,  urging  his  old  gray  mare  to  greater 
speed  until  the  center  of  the  bridge  is  reached  when  he  dis- 
covers that  the  animal  has  lost  its  tail. 

We  went  up  the  lane  a short  distance,  turned  and  crossed 
the  new  iron  bridge,  and  another  pretty  sight  greeted  the  eye. 
On  either  side  of  the  river,  which  is  about  thirty  feet  wide, 
there  were  great  beds  of  white  wild  daisies  climbing  the  steep 
banks,  with  bits  of  purple  heather  and  elders  in  full  bloom  here 
and  there. 

We  passed  on  to  the  old  Kirk  of  which  Burns  wrote,  where 
his  kin  are  sleeping,  covered  with  moss  and  uncared  for.  The 
stone  walls  of  the  old  church  still  stand  but  the  roof  has  entirely 
disappeared.  Our  time  was  up  and  we  hastened  back  to  town. 
It  lacked  an  hour  of  train  time.  We  took  a short  stroll  down 
to  the  river  Clyde,  then  back  to  the  station.  In  a little  while  we 
were  back  to  the  cars  and  soon  in  our  rooms.  I found  charm- 
ing company  in  my  newly-made  friends.  They  were  very  kind. 
I never  saw  two  sisters  so  devoted  to  each  other.  There  did 
not  seem  to  be  the  least  selfishness  in  either. 

Wednesday  I remained  indoors  to  rest  and  write. 

Thursday  was  a wet  day  and  made  me  wonder  what  Scot- 
land was  crying  about.  I was  determined,  though,  to  go  out 
and  I got  my  feet  wet  for  my  trouble.  In  the  evening  I went 
to  Cawcadden’s  Church  where  I found  a large  crowd  from  the 
slums.  I spoke  to  them  twenty  minutes.  Ten  persons  came 
up  to  be  prayed  for  and  take  the  temperance  pledge. 

Whenever  I was  invited  to  speak  in  the  mission  halls  I 
knew  there  would  be  large  crowds.  These  halls  are  churches 
and  I don’t  know  for  what  reason  they  are  called  halls,  un- 
less it  is  because  the  poor  assemble  there. 

Friday  I was  asked  to  come  back.  I went  and  we  had  an- 
other splendid  meeting,  five  persons  professing  saving  faith  in 
Christ.  I returned  home  to  find  an  invitation  from  the  Vic* 
toria  Mission  directors  to  a fair-week  trip  to  Tat-v>prt.  I ac- 
cepted. On  Saturday  morning  at  seven  o’clock  I was  at  the 
wharf  where  there  were  five  steamers  each  carrying  about  200 
persons.  I found  my  way  to  the  steamer  “Ben  More.”  On 


IN  GLASGOW 


77 


deck  I met  many  friends  and  was  introduced  to  many  strang- 
ers. As  for  provisions  it  was  clear  we  would  not  lack,  for 
among  this  cargo  of  human  freight,  about  two  hundred  and 
fifty,  I saw  buckets,  barrels  and  boxes  of  foodstuff  and  was 
sure  there  was  enough  to  last  the  week.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cap- 
tain Forsythe  were  also  in  the  party.  There  were  ten  or 
more  assistants  to  help  care  for  us. 

After  a delightful  steam  down  the  Clyde,  which  is  lined  on 
either  side  with  high  hills  dotted  here  and  there  with  magnifi- 
cent summer  residences,  and  now  and  then  the  ruins  of  an  old 
castle  covered  with  moss  of  many  years,  we  turned  into  the 
Loch  and  caught  sight  of  the  pier  crowded  with  spectators. 
Soon  we  were  ashore.  The  boys,  fifty  in  number,  were  sent 
to  another  camp  in  care  of  a captain  and  his  wife,  while  the 
party  of  two  hundred  girls  went  to  the  Tarbert  village  school. 
A walk  of  a mile  brought  us  to  the  grounds  where  we  found 
five  buildings  awaiting  our  occupancy.  There  were  four  large 
dormitories  where  the  girls  slept,  a kitchen  with  three  cooks 
— strong  buxom  Scotch  women  ; then  a spacious  dining  room 
where  the  two  hundred  can  be  seated  at  once.  Soon  the  drays 
came  up  and  all  the  provisions  were  put  in  the  storehouse,  the 
dishes  in  place,  our  luggage  brought  and  we  were  prepared  for 
the  week’s  picnic.  We  got  all  the  fresh  milk  and  butter  brought 
to  us  every  morning  except  Sunday,  when  we  had  to  send  for 
it,  for  the  milkman  refused  to  deliver  on  that  day.  Five  girls 
volunteered  to  go  and  bring  a gallon  apiece,  so  we  would  not  be 
deprived  of  our  Scotch  porridge. 

We  were  up  at  six,  breakfasted  at  eight,  then  prayers  and 
off  to  the  hills  till  one,  when  we  returned  to  dinner.  Then 
away  to  another  part  of  the  hills,  to  some  old  ruin  till  seven. 
We  had  supper  and  then  down  to  the  pier  where  we  gathered 
with  our  hymn  books  and  Bibles.  We  sang  and  prayed.  Mr. 
Humphries,  a splendid  speaker,  read  the  scripture  lesson  and 
exhorted  from  it.  Mr.  Buchanan,  whom  the  village  children 
are  overjoyed  to  meet,  distributed  candies  and  heart-shaped  red 
and  blue  cards  on  which  were  printed  scripture  verses  in  gold 
letters.  We  were  dismissed  with  a blessing  and  being  thor- 
oughly tired  out  were  glad  to  seek  sleep. 

Sunday  dawned  a lovely  day.  We  gathered  in  the  dining 
room.  The  girls  had  returned  with  the  milk  and  we  were 
ready  for  our  porridge.  Each  received  a generous  bowl,  of 
which  I had  become  very  fond.  After  breakfast  we  were  off  to 
church ; but  as  I was  on  the  dinner  committee,  as  soon  as  we 


78 


“HE  LEADETH  ME 


were  dismissed  I hurried  to  the  hall  to  help  to  dish  up  and  serve 
the  dinner  of  new  potatoes  with  cream,  beef,  boiled  ham,  but- 
termilk, bread,  Jam,  and  cakes.  At  two  o’clock  we  attended 
the  Established  Church,  heard  a good  sermon  by  Mr.  Campbell, 
and  returned  to  tea.  Then  down  to  the  pier  where  we  had  our 
evening  meeting. 

Monday,  our  captain,  Mr.  Forsythe,  told  us  we  were  to  go 
for  a climb  on  the  highest  hill,  where  we  could  get  a clear  view 
of  the  finest  scenery  around  Tarbert.  Well,  we  reached  the 
top  of  the  hill  after  a good  many  sighs,  as  it  was  very  steep. 
My ! what  romantic  scenery  greeted  our  eyes  ! It  seemed  there 
were  at  least  one  hundred  fishing  smacks  off  for  the  night’s 
fishing.  Here  and  there  little  islands  as  it  were,  lay  sprinkled 
in  the  lake.  There,  opposite  us  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake, 
nestled  a pretty  stone  house  just  under  the  shadow  of  the  rock, 
which  was  covered  with  a moss-like  purple  flower  called  heath- 
er, a white  wild  daisy,  a bit  of  honeysuckle  trailing  itself  in  and 
out,  a tiny  yellow  flower,  together  with  bunches  of  wild  thyme. 
The  water  seemed  to  have  been  dyed  deep  by  the  shadow  of 
the  beautiful  blue  sky  overhead.  To  look  upon  this  wonderful 
arrangement  of  nature  one  can  only  exclaim,  “How  lovely ! 
How  sublime  ! How  exquisitely  beautiful !” 

Mr.  Wark,  who  had  a store  of  fun-provoking  stories,  re- 
lated one,  and  the  hill  resounded  with  peals  of  laughter  from 
the  many  throats.  Mr.  Buchanan,  who  was  slenderly  built  and 
about  fifty  years  of  age,  but  as  spry  and  gay  as  a lad  of  eighteen 
had  his  concertina  along.  He  played  several  tunes  and  after  I 
had  given  a song  we  began  the  descent,  which  we  found  rather 
difficult.  Many  who  began  walking  gingerly  found  themselves 
sliding  down  and  catching  at  the  air.  At  last  we  were  at  the 
bottom  on  the  road  home,  when  several  drunken  fishermen  came 
reeling  along,  making  ugly  grimaces  at  us,  and  singing  a song 
in  a voice  that  sounded  like  a nutmeg  grater. 

What  is  more  disgusting  than  an  irresponsible  drunken 
person,  tottering  on  the  street,  taking  up  nearly  all  the  sidewalk. 
The  foul  smell — Oh,  how  I wish  I could  bottle  up  their  horrid 
breaths  and  when  their  sober  moments  come  I should  like  to 
remove  the  cork  and  give  them  a generous  whiff.  I pity  the 
poor  individuals  who  are  tied  for  life  to  such  creatures  and 
forced  to  endure  this  sickening  stench  through  the  long  night 
for  years.  Perhaps  you  can  recall  to  mind  some  miserable 
wretch  who  does  not  stand  as  master  of  himself  but  is  under 
the  control  of  this  awful  demon.  Dipsomania  ought  to  be 


IN  GLASGOW 


79 


treated  as  insanity.  Persons  who  have  the  ailment  are  really  a 
worse  menace  to  society  than  the  mildly  insane.  The  dipso- 
manist  is  allowed  to  roam  at  large,  if  he  pleases,  and  mingles 
unhindered  with  many  children.  He  is  sometimes  entrusted 
with  an  engine  attached  to  cars  loaded  with  hundreds  of  human 
beings.  I never  board  a car  or  boat  without  a prayer  to  be 
delivered  from  a drinking  official  who  may  be  in  charge,  for 
there  is  no  telling  when  his  appetite  will  get  the  better  of  him, 
and  whilst  he  is  deep  in  his  cup  the  unsuspecting  passengers 
may  be  brought  face  to  face  with  death. 

I sometimes  wish  I could  draw  back  the  veil  that  ob- 
scures the  future  from  the  present  and  bid  the  individual 
look  and  see  where  the  first  glass  of  intoxicant  will  lead.  I 
have  talked  with  men  whom  it  led  to  the  gallows ; women 
who  sold  out  all  that  life  holds  dear  to  women.  I have  been 
into  homes  that  it  has  wrecked ; fed  babies  it  left  hungry 
and  unclad.  I have  stood  by  graves  it  has  made.  I have 
tried  to  carry  sunshine  where  it  had  caused  despondency 
and  gloom.  Oh,  Drink,  thou  hast  given  me  more  work  and 
worry  than  all  the  other  evils  and  vices  put  together ! A heart- 
rending scene  comes  to  my  mind  which  I shall  never  forget. 
The  scene  was  in  the  Court  House  in  New  Orleans,  Lou- 
isiana. “I  am  a slave  to  liquor!’’  cried  a poor  woman.  “For 
God’s  sake,  judge,  give  me  a home- — a home,  not  for  thirty 
days,  but  one  to  end  my  days  in.” 

These  words  coming  in  a tremulous,  husky  voice  were 
addressed  to  Judge  Edward  Finnegan  of  the  First  Re- 
corder’s Court.  They  came  from  a woman  standing  before 
the  bar.  She  was  dressed  in  a bedraggled  black  skirt,  a 
loose  fitting  sacque  of  the  same  color  and  a sunbonnet  part- 
ly concealing  her  face  from  view.  She  said  her  name  was 
Henrietta  Luce,  and  that  she  had  no  home. 

The  woman  showed  the  awful  effect  of  drink  and  dis- 
sipation, and  was  a wreck  physically  and  morally.  Her 
face  was  bloated  to  twice  its  ordinary  size,  and  thick  red 
folds  hung  in  ugly  laps,  like  the  skin  of  a pachyderm.  Her 
eyes  all  bleared  and  sunken,  looked  out  from  their  sockets 
destitute  of  all  expression.  When  facing  the  bar  she  held 
her  head  down,  showing  that  she  had  not  quite  lost  all  sense 
of  shame. 


80 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


Mrs.  Luce  was  found  in  a state  of  beastly  intoxication 
by  Officer  Yates  at  the  corner  of  Basin  street  and  Tulane 
avenue.  She  was  placed  in  a cell  and  at  once  fell  into  a 
drunken  sleep  and  didn’t  awake  until  called  before  court 
the  next  morning.  Judge  Finnegan  looked  at  her  compas- 
sionately, and  inquired  as  to  her  condition.  “Judge,”  said 
the  unfortunate,  her  voice  gradually  rising  until  it  reached 
a high  treble,  “I  have  no  home.  I am  an  outcast,  and  I don’t 
know  where  I would  lay  my  head  this  night  were  you  to 
release  me.  Oh,  God,”  she  continued  in  a voice  that  sound- 
ed like  a wail,  “I  am  miserable  and  a victim  to  my  own 
folly.”  The  scene  was  a pathetic  one  and  Mrs.  Luce  trem- 
bled from  head  to  foot  as  she  spoke.  All  eyes  were  turned 
upon  her  and  there  were  few  who  did  not  pity  the  miserable 
prisoner  standing,  pleading  to  be  sent  to  prison. 

“Judge,”  she  again  said,  after  a pause,  speaking  in  a 
husky  tone,  “I  am  an  abject  slave  to  liquor  and  the  curse 
is  on  me  with  such  strength  that  I cannot  shake  off  its 
terrible  hold.  Send  me  to  prison,  your  Honor,  where  I can’t 
get  the  stuff,  and  there  let  me  remain.”  Her  head  fell  and 
she  stood  mute,  waiting  for  her  sentence. 

“Remand  the  prisoner,”  spoke  Judge  Finnegan,  eyeing 
the  accused  pityingly,  and  then  in  lower  tones,  leaning  over 
the  desk  to  Docket  Clerk  Fox,  “The  workhouse.  Fox.” 

Mrs.  Luce  walked  back  to  the  dock  and  the  case  was 
over.  On  the  bloated  face  of  the  woman  traces  of  beauty 
could  still  be  seen,  but  a few  years  ago,  before  liquor  made 
her  its  slave,  she  was  doubtless,  a well  formed,  handsome 
woman.  She  was  a beloved  wife  once,  but  her  terrible  pas- 
sion broke  up  her  home,  and  she  went  from  bad  to  worse 
until  she  became  a common  drunkard  in  the  streets.  Such 
is  the  result  of  drink. 

Looking  at  her  I was  reminded  of  a story  of  an  old 
woman.  Some  one  presented  her  with  a large  bottle  of 
brandy  cherries.  One  morning  she  sat  on  her  porch  and 
ate  them — throwing  the  stones  into  the  yard.  She  raised 
geese  to  help  her  earn  a livelihood.  The  geese  quickly 
gobbled  up  the  stones. 

She  went  about  her  household  duties.  After  several 
hours  elapsed  the  old  woman  went  into  the  yard  and  was 
amazed  to  see  all  of  her  fine  geese  lying  on  their  backs,  ap- 
parently dead.  She  determined  not  to  lose  all,  so  called  in 


IN  GLASGOW 


81 


her  neighbors  to  help  pluck  the  feathers  from  their  bodies, 
desiring  to  get  something  from  this  source,  since  the  geese 
could  not  be  sold  for  food. 

Their  bodies  were  carelessly  thrown  in  a heap  to  be 
buried  the  next  morning.  About  12  o’clock  at  night,  the 
old  woman  heard  such  a noise — squawking  of  geese ! She 
jumped  up,  and  saw  all  those  naked  geese  had  come  to  life 
and  were  fussing  about  the  loss  of  their  clothes,  which  they 
sadly  needed  that  cold  autumn  night. 

The  old  woman  looked  out  in  disgust  and  exclaimed, 
“If  you  had  quit  before  you  began  eatin’  dem  brandy  cher- 
ries, you  would  ’a  had  your  clothes  yit.” 

Ah ! if  she  had  never  begun  with  the  social  glass ; poor 
soul  would  have  had  a home,  loved  ones  and  a respected 
place  in  society ! 

I must  now  go  back  to  my  party. 

Tuesday  we  were  to  go  for  a sail  after  breakfast.  The 
day  was  an  ideal  one  for  boating.  About  eight  yachts  were 
ready  and  we  were  off  for  a tour  around  the  island.  We 
had  a delightful  time.  Songs,  recitations  enlivened  the  trip 
and  now  and  then  a dash  of  water,  “just  to  let  us  know  how 
wet  it  was,”  says  the  man  at  the  rudder.  At  last  we  got 
back  to  shore.  Mr.  Miller  and  I were  on  the  dinner  com- 
mittee. We  hurried  to  set  the  table,  but  Mr.  Miller  disap- 
peared. Mr.  Forsythe  wrote  out  a notice  of  his  disappear- 
ance, offered  a reward  for  his  body,  dead  or  alive.  He  was 
at  last  found  where  he  wanted  to  be — asleep. 

When  we  gathered  at  the  table  the  committee  was 
being  congratulated  for  their  efficient  service.  Mr.  Wark 
gave  Dr.  Wilson  credit  for  lying  in  bed  late  in  the  morn- 
ings, worrying  about  the  fresh  herrings  he  had  ordered  for 
breakfast,  fearful  lest  we  would  not  get  the  number  ordered 
for  us.  He  explained  eloquently  the  doctor’s  strain  of  mind. 
We  were  compelled  to  sympathize  with  him.  Mr.  Miller 
helped  us  wonderfully  by  looking  commandingly  at  the 
tables,  as  Miss  Armour  says,  “Helping  us  by  looking  pleas- 
ant.” Miss  Armour  was  on  all  the  committees  for  she  kept 
the  keys  and  had  charge  of  all  the  food. 

Wednesday  we  were  surprised  to  learn  that  two  of  the 
gentlemen,  Messrs.  Strong  and  Humphries,  had  stolen  away 
in  the  morning  early  to  attend  a business  meeting  in  the 
city.  We  were  all  sorry.  Miss  Muir  wrote  a poetic  lament. 


82 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


Evening  brought  them  back  and  joy  reigned  supreme. 

On  Thursday  we  were  on  the  road  to  Stonefield,  the 
seat  of  the  lord  of  the  village.  The  scenery  here  simply 
defies  description.  We  soon  reached  Stonefield’s  house. 
Then  down  to  the  Lake  Shore,  where  the  girls  had  gath- 
ered in  groups,  taking  off  their  shoes.  We  contented  our- 
selves with  gathering  pretty  shells.  How  time  flies  when 
one  is  enjoying  himself!  Soon  the  hour  came  to  return  to 
camp  and  we  took  up  our  two  miles’  march.  Finally,  we 
reached  home,  tired  out,  but  quite  ready  to  eat  a good  sup- 
per, after  which  we  had  prayer  meeting.  The  Lord  blessed 
us  with  ten  conversions  while  the  devil  had  arranged  with 
his  agents  to  hold  a dance  in  the  hall  about  fifteen  yards 
from  our  gate.  This  did  not,  however,  affect  us.  The  girls 
were  very  nice  and  obedient  and  soon  all  were  in  bed  sleep- 
ing soundly.  The  village  boys  were  disappointed,  for  not 
one  of  the  girls  belonging  to  the  Society  of  the  Religious 
Foundry  Boys  was  with  them. 

All  were  busy  Friday  morning  packing  up  to  return  to 
the  city.  The  steamer  came  for  us  at  four  o’clock.  Five 
hours’  steam  up  the  Clyde  brought  us  to  the  city.  We  were 
ashore  very  soon  and  anxious  relatives  were  greeting  their 
loved  ones.  I was  sent  in  Miss  Armour’s  carriage  to  the 
Y.  W.  C.  A.,  where  Miss  Grant  gladly  greeted  me,  showed 
me  to  my  room  and  I was  soon  lost  in  deep  slumber. 

Saturday  morning  brought  me  a letter  from  my  friend, 
Helen  Noble,  urging  me  to  come  to  Paris,  and  spend  a while 
with  her.  I answered,  promising  to  be  with  her  in  a week. 
Mr.  Buchanan  called  and  invited  me  to  visit  Maryhill,  the 
city’s  home  for  poor  girls.  Such  a lovely  place  with  large 
grounds ! There  were  nearly  two  hundred  girls,  ranging  in 
age  from  six  to  fourteen  years,  all  nice,  clean  and  healthy- 
looking.  They  have  large  dormitories  with  separate  beds 
for  each  girl  and  everything  very  comfortable.  Some  of  the 
children  are  paid  for  when  their  parents  can  afford  it;  if 
not,  the  authorities  keep  them  with  just  the  same  care, 
teaching  them  to  be  good  housekeepers. 

The  boys  are  all  kept  in  a separate  place,  a little  dis- 
tance from  the  girls.  x\ll  seem  happy,  and  everything  is  as 
clean  as  soap  and  water  can  make  it. 

Mr.  Buchanan  insisted  upon  my  addressing  the  girls 
and  singing  for  them,  which  I did,  and  they  seemed  de- 


GROUP  OF  OUR  CHILDREN. 


IN  GLASGOW 


83 


lighted.  We  left  amid  a chorus  of  good-byes.  We  were  on 
our  way  to  the  cars  when  Mr.  Buchanan  was  besieged  by 
a throng  of  small  boys  who  were  demanding  a text  from 
him.  He  made  them  all  happy  by  giving  each  one  of  his 
red,  heart-shaped  cards  with  a scripture  verse  printed  in 
gold  thereon. 

Sunday  I could  not  walk  to  Victoria  Hall  to  service, 
as  it  was  too  far,  so  I attended  the  Methodist  Church  nearby, 
and  heard  a good  sermon  by  Rev.  Mr.  Butcher.  I was  in- 
troduced and  invited  by  him  to  address  the  Sunday  School 
at  2 :3o  o’clock,  to  which  I agreed,  then  left  to  go  to  Sterling, 
a shelter  for  fallen  women.  I addressed  them.  They  seemed 
deeply  impressed  and  promised  to  live  purer  lives.  Having 
delivered  three  addresses  that  day  I was  glad  to  return  to 
my  room  and  have  a quiet  moment  with  Christ  and  take  a 
much  needed  rest. 

Monday  Miss  Penny  of  Edinburgh  wrote  Lady  Over- 
toun,  asking  her  to  arrange  a meeting  for  me  at  their 
county  seat,  but  as  Lady  Overtoun  was  very  ill  I was  met 
by  Lord  Overtoun,  a very  pleasant  and  unceremonious 
gentleman,  to  whom  I am  grateful  for  many  courtesies. 

Tuesday  the  rain  came  down  from  a sky  that  promised 
to  leak  all  day.  I remained  in  to  attend  to  my  wearing  ap- 
parel, which  meant  that  I must  take  the  proverbial  stitch 
in  time  in  order  to  save  nine. 

Wednesday  I was  invited  to  spend  the  evening  with 
the  Misses  Cochran.  I was  told  by  the  bell  girl  that  it  was 
not  far  but  thought  it  best  to  take  a car.  I knew  that  meant 
at  least  two  miles,  so  I boarded  a car  at  Argyle  street.  After 
I had  ridden  five  squares  the  conductor  made  his  appear- 
ance to  collect  my  fare,  a half-penny,  and  I asked  to  be  put 
off  at  Monteith  Row.  I did  not  know  where  that  was  and 
he  very  cheerfully  informed  me  that  he  didn’t  know  either. 
I had  a mind  to  leave  the  car  and  find  a conductor  that  did 
know,  when  a gentleman  hearing  the  conversation,  po- 
litely told  me  I was  in  the  right  car  and  that  he  would  tell 
me  when  to  get  off.  This  greatly  relieved  me.  In  a few 
minutes  we  were  there.  I walked  half  a square  and  was  at 
their  home,  which  faced  the  Peoples  Palace  and  the  beau- 
tiful garden  opposite.  My  hostess  greeted  me  gladly.  A 
nice  little  tea  party  and  music  were  in  progress.  At  seven- 
thirty  o’clock  I went  to  Victoria  Hall  to  a meeting,  where 


84 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


we  discussed  the  trip  to  Tarbert  and  the  pleasure  derived 
therefrom.  Finally  I bade  them  adieu  for  the  night  and  was 
off  to  the  Y.  W.  C.  A.  rooms  where  a letter  awaited  me, 
inviting  me  to  Belfast,  Ireland.  I accepted  this  invitation 
and  decided  to  leave  on  Friday. 

Thursday  I dined  with  Capt.  and  Mrs.  Forsyth  at 
their  home  at  Knowhead,  Cambuslang.  By  previous  arrange- 
ment, Miss  Cathie  Gronbeck  came  for  me.  After  boarding  a 
car  at  Caledonian  Station,  an  hour’s  ride  brought  us  to  this 
beautiful  place  to  meet  our  host  ond  hostess.  After  having 
dinner  and  strolled  through  the  garden,  which  was  filled 
with  blooming  flowers,  it  was  time  to  get  back  to  the  sta- 
tion. After  a little  delay  we  were  back  to  the  city  at  Miss 
Gronbeck’s,  spending  a few  more  pleasant  moments.  I then 
left  for  the  Women’s  Shelter,  where  I was  to  speak.  There 
were  in  the  chapel  nearly  two  hundred  persons.  After  sing- 
ing and  praying  I was  introduced  by  the  matron,  Miss 
Patterson.  I spoke  thirty  minutes,  then  appealed  to  those 
who  wished  to  have  me  explain  what  is  meant  by  believing 
in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  or  possessing  saving  faith,  to  re- 
main and  talk  the  matter  over.  All  filed  out,  but  to  my 
surprise  thirty  returned  and  desired  to  possess  that  faith. 
I proceeded  to  explain  as  best  I could  our  Saviour’s  birth, 
suffering  and  death.  When  I was  through  every  face  was 
bathed  in  tears.  I asked  those  who  believed  they  were 
saved  through  His  having  paid  the  debt  with  His  own  life, 
to  stand  up.  One  stood,  two,  three,  four,  five,  and  I sang: 

Almost  persuaded,  now  to  believe ; 

Almost  persuaded,  Christ  to  receive. 

Seems  now  some  soul  to  say, 

Go  Spirit,  go  Thy  way, 

Some  more  convenient  day, 

On  Thee  I’ll  call. 

I tried  also  to  sing  this  sweet  song  with  my  whole 
heart  and  soul : 

Savour  more  than  life  to  me. 

I am  clinging,  clinging,  close  to  Thee ; 

Let  Thy  precious  blood  applied, 

Keep  me  ever,  ever  near  Thy  side. 

Every  day,  every  hour, 

Let  me  feel  Thy  cleansing  power; 


ON  IRISH  SOIL 


85 


May  Thy  tender  love  to  me, 

Bind  me  closer,  closer,  Lord  to  Thee. 

What  an  outpouring  of  the  Spirit!  Twenty-five  were 
standing  with  that  new  peace  shining  in  their  faces.  Their 
tears  were  dried  up,  and  they  were  helping  me  to  sing.  We 
bowed  our  heads  and  thanked  God  for  the  manifestation  of 
His  Holy  Spirit.  I sang,  “What  a Friend  We  Have  in 
Jesus,”  and  parted,  feeling  that  God  had  abundantly  re- 
warded me  for  my  day’s  work. 

As  I reached  the  door  the  little  band  sang  out,  “God 
Be  With  You  Till  We  Meet  Again.” 

It  was  ten  o’clock.  I hurried  to  catch  a car  and  reached 
the  Y.  W.  C.  A.  rooms  just  as  they  were  locking  the  doors 
for  the  night. 

Friday  morning  I got  my  belongings  together,  break- 
fasted at  eight,  then  started  for  the  Caledonian  Station  to 
get  the  8:45  train.  Soon  we  reached  Ardrossan,  a smoky 
mining  town,  then  an  hour’s  ride  and  the  guard  called  out 
in  a nasal  twang,  “All  off  for  the  steamers.”  There  were 
two  at  the  docks,  one  for  Arron,  the  other  for  Belfast.  I 
took  my  seat  on  deck  where  it  was  nice  and  cool.  Four 
hours’  ride  from  Ardrossan  brought  us  to  Belfast.  I was 
the  only  brown  person  on  board,  and  everyone  seemed  to 
eye  me  with  a “I-wonder-if-her-color-will-wash-out”  expres- 
sion on  their  faces. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ON  IRISH  SOIL. 

We  arrived  at  the  Belfast  docks.  The  licensed  porters 
were  grabbing  at  the  parcels  of  passengers  and  charging 
six-pence  to  lift  them  from  the  steamer  to  the  dock,  a dis- 
tance of  perhaps  fifteen  feet.  I carried  my  leather  bag, 
wrap  and  parcel.  It  was  all  I could  do  to  keep  them  from 
taking  them  from  me.  I held  myself  erect,  looking  sternly 
at  them  and  they  allowed  me  to  pass.  I soon  got  out  of 
the  crowd.  I was  glad  that  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  was  not  far 
from  the  dock.  I was  thinking  of  American  miles  and  I 
asked  the  guide  if  it  was  a mile.  He  answered,  “Sure  not, 
about  a half.”  So  I made  up  my  mind  to  walk  as  I did  not 
like  the  looks  of  those  Irish  jauntings,  a two-wheel  affair, 


86 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


the  driver  sitting  on  one  side,  the  passenger  on  the  other, 
with  the  luggage  in  the  middle.  A boy  begged  me  to  let 
him  carry  my  satchel,  saying  he  knew  where  the  place  was. 
I gave  him  four  pence  to  lead  me  to  the  Institute  Donegal. 
We  walked  for  a mile  in  the  hot  sun.  I asked  him  if  he 
really  knew  where  the  place  was.  “Oh,  it’s  a brave  bit,  yit.” 
This  was  no  consolation  to  me.  However,  when  I was  sure 
I had  walked  two  miles  I reached  the  institute. 

After  dinner  I boarded  a train  for  Upper  Crescent,  the 
home  of  Rev.  Mr.  Montgomery,  who  had  advertised  me  to 
speak  for  him  Sunday  at  seven  o’clock  p.  m.  I was  also  to 
speak  that  day  at  the  Y.  W.  C.  A.  at  four  o’clock.  I was 
tired  out  and  after  tea  I wended  my  way  up  four  flights  of 
stairs  and  entered  my  room  which  had  three  beds  in  it.  I 
saw  a figure  standing  in  the  center  of  the  room  undressing — 
a woman,  who  greeted  me  with  a smile  and  told  me  she 
had  just  arrived  that  day  and  that  we  were  to  room  to- 
gether. I smiled  and  said  to  her  that  I was  glad  to  have 
company.  She  seemed  very  tired,  too.  Her  eyes  were 
large,  encircled  with  dark  rings  and  were  unnaturally  bright. 
Before  I was  undressed  the  gas  was  turned  off  and  I was 
in  the  dark.  I scrambled  into  bed  some  way  and  was  fixed 
for  a good  sound  sleep,  but  could  not,  as  my  room-mate 
sighed  so  much.  I asked  what  was  the  trouble.  She  said 
she  could  not  sleep  on  account  of  her  headache.  I offered 
to  get  up  and  put  a wet  cloth  on  it,  but  she  refused,  saying 
she  was  subject  to  headaches,  that  nothing  gave  her  relief. 
After  a while  I fell  asleep  but  was  awakened  by  that  strange 
feeling  that  some  one  was  near  me.  I opened  my  eyes  to 
find  my  room-mate  standing  over  me,  sighing  and  wringing 
her  hands.  The  moon  shone  in  at  the  window  and  fell  upon 
her  ghastly  pale  countenance  looking  me  squarely  in  the 
face.  I realized  I was  locked  in  the  room  with  an  insane 
person.  I knew  it  would  be  worse  for  me  to  show  the  least 
fear,  so  I whispered  a prayer  to  God  for  strength,  and  said 
in  a soft  voice,  “Can  you  not  sleep,  my  dear?  I am  so  sorry. 
Shall  I sit  up  and  talk  with  you?”  I sat  up.  She  said,  “Oh, 
why  did  you  awake?  I am  so  sorry.”  I put  my  arms 
around  her  waist,  told  her  she  must  kneel  down  and  we 
would  pray  to  God  to  ease  her  pain.  She  clasped  her  hands 
to  her  head  and  said  her  brain  was  on  fire.  I saw  she  had 
bitten  her  finger  nails  until  they  were  bleeding.  I heard 


ON  IRISH  SOIL 


87 


the  chimes  say  it  was  four.  I offered  another  prayer.  It 
would  not  be  long  before  the  servants  came.  She  knelt  by 
the  bed  and  I by  her  side.  I prayed  aloud  for  God  to  help 
her,  to  calm  the  spirit  of  unrest  that  had  possession  of  her. 
She  shuddered  with  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks.  I 
got  her  to  lie  down.  I had  often  been  told  my  hands  pos- 
sessed the  power  to  soothe.  I gently  stroked  her  forehead 
Thank  God,  who  answers  prayer,  she  went  to  sleep.  Though 
she  breathed  evenly  I was  afraid  to  leave  her  bedside.  So 
I sat  there  watching  her  until  six  o’clock.  I heard  the 
servants  moving  about,  got  up  quietly,  stole  to  the  door, 
unlocked  it  and  peered  up  and  down  the  hall  but  saw  no 
one.  I thought  I would  go  down  stairs  and  arouse  some 
of  them,  but  another  thought  came,  saying  the  servants 
would  be  no  help.  They  were  all  girls,  who  would  simply 
get  frightened,  perhaps  run  out,  give  unnecessary  alarm  or 
awaken  and  frighten  the  sleeping  woman.  So  I made  up 
my  mind  to  say  nothing,  but  wait  till  after  breakfast,  see  the 
superintendent,  Miss  Charlton,  a kindly  Christian  lady,  tell 
her  quietly  and  she  could  see  to  her  without  the  crazy  wo- 
man’s knowledge.  I returned  to  the  room,  keeping  an  eye 
on  the  sleeper.  At  last  the  dressing  bell  rang,  when  she 
awoke  with  a start,  asking  me  if  I had  been  awake  long.  I 
answered,  “Yes.”  She  said  she  was  so  tired,  having  slept 
all  night  without  moving.  I said  to  her,  “I  am  glad  you 
rested  so  well,  you  had  better  get  up  and  dress  as  the 
breakfast  bell  will  soon  ring.”  She  obeyed  and  looked  at 
me  askance  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eyes,  then  noticing  her 
nails  were  full  of  blood  she  hid  them  in  her  palms,  went  to 
the  bowl,  washed  and  dried  them.  The  bell  rang.  We 
went  down  to  breakfast  together.  She  ate  well.  I was  sick 
and  could  only  sip  my  tea.  I was  about  to  leave  the  table 
when  she  caught  me  around  the  waist,  and  asked  me  to 
come  to  the  drawing  room  with  her,  she  had  something  to 
tell  me.  I let  her  lead  me  off  to  hear  her  story  or  to  see 
if  she  would  mention  anything  of  the  night,  but  she  wanted 
to  tell  me  that  she  had  taken  a great  liking  to  me  and  that 
she  would  like  to  be  with  me  always.  That  she  had  just 
come  from  a doctor’s  home  where  she  had  been  under  his 
care  for  nervous  prostration,  and  that  she  was  tired  of  him 
and  his  wife.  She  wrote  letters  to  her  friends,  that  the  doc- 
tor did  not  treat  her  right,  and  begged  to  be  taken  away, 


88 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


which  they  did.  She  had  a few  relatives  here,  a father  and 
sister  who  are  either  afraid  of  her  or  did  not  wish  to  be 
bothered  with  her.  She  got  up  from  the  chair  and  began 
pacing  the  floor,  biting  her  nails  and  wishing  she  were  dead. 
She  went  to  the  window,  looked  out  and  said,  “I  believe  I 
will  jump  out  and  get  rid  of  this  pain  in  my  head.”  I went 
to  her,  took  her  about  the  waist,  seated  her  on  the  sofa,  and 
told  her  she  must  never  do  this,  for  God  would  not  receive 
her  in  His  kingdom.  He  will  forgive  no  self-murderer.  I 
went  to  the  piano,  which  stood  in  the  corner  of  the  drawing 
room,  and  sang  that  sweet  song,  “I  Must  Tell  Jesus  All 
My  Troubles.”  She  became  quiet  and  lay  on  the  sofa,  clos- 
ing her  eyes,  while  I quietly  left  the  room  and  went  to  the 
superintendent.  She  sent  for  the  friend  who  had  brought 
the  lady  to  the  institute.  The  friend  came  and  packed  the 
woman’s  effects  and  took  her  back  to  the  doctor’s  whence 
she  came.  She  rebelled,  but  after  some  persuasion  got  into  a 
cab,  and  was  soon  off  for  the  depot. 

I thanked  God  the  strain  was  over.  I made  ready  to 
speak  at  this  mission  hall  for  Rev.  Mr.  Montgomery,  just 
after  speaking  at  on  open  air  meeting. 

Sunday  I attended  the  Methodist  Church,  only  a 
square  away,  addressed  the  Sunday  School,  then  went  up- 
stairs to  hear  a stirring  soul-reviving  sermon  by  one  of  ihe 
local  preachers  and  returned  to  the  institute  for  dinner.  At 
four  p.  m.  I delivered  another  lecture  for  them  in  the  lecture- 
room.  Many  were  affected.  I left  to  go  to  the  sitting  room, 
feeling  as  though  I had  done  poorly.  The  girls  came  troop- 
ing in  to  see  me.  I felt  like  going  to  my  room  to  inquire 
of  the  Saviour  for  the  message  for  the  night’s  meeting  and 
then  to  rest  a bit.  When  I got  to  the  door  I found  a girl 
waiting  there  for  me.  I said,  “Well  my  dear,  what  can  I 
do  for  you?”  She  answered,  “Oh,  so  much!”  She  looked 
around  to  see  if  anyone  was  near,  then  asked : “May  I come 
into  your  room?”  Seeing  she  was  troubled  I put  my  arm 
around  her  and  drew  her  in.  She  shut  the  door.  I gave 
her  a seat  on  the  bed  by  my  side.  She  reminded  me  of  myr 
daughter  Eva  as  she  looked  up  at  me  inquiringly.  I felt 
strangely  drawn  to  her ; again  I asked,  “What  can  I do  for 
you,  my  dear?”  “Well,  said  she,  “when  you  spoke  of  that 
man  who  had  committed  murder  this  evening,  how  God  for- 
gave him  and  blessed  his  soul,  I thought  there  was  a chance 


ON  IRISH  SOIL 


89 


for  me.  I am  a sinner,  and  you  can’t  imagine  how  bad  I am. 
I have  been  so  mean.  Do  you  think  God  will  hear  me  if  I 
pray  to  Him?  Will  He  forgive  me  of  all  my  sins?”  I 
answered,  “Yes,  all  of  them.  Shall  I read  you  what  He 
Himself  says?”  “Do,  please,  my  heart  is  so  full.  I have 
no  one  who  cares  for  me.  Mother  and  Father  are  both  dead. 
I work  in  one  of  the  largest  stores  here.  I feel  so  lonely 
and  forsaken.”  “No,”  I answered,  “never  lonely,  for  the 
spirit  of  Christ  is  with  thee.”  “St.  Matthew  xi,  28-30,  says, 
‘Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and 
I will  give  you  rest.  Take  my  yoke  upon  you  and  learn  of 
me,  for  I am  meek  and  lowly  in  heart,  and  ye  shall  find  rest 
unto  your  souls,  for  My  yoke  is  easy  and  My  burden  is 
light.”  “Yes,  but  do  you  think  that  means  me?”  she  asked. 
Then  I turned  to  John  i ii : 16,  “God  so  loved  the  world  that 
He  gave  His  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  believeth 
in  Him  should  not  perish  but  have  everlasting  life.  For 
God  sent  not  His  Son  into  the  world  to  condemn  the  world, 
but  that  the  world  through  Him  might  be  saved.  And  he 
that  believeth  on  Him  is  not  condemned,  but  he  that  be- 
lieveth not  is  condemned  already  because  he  has  not  be- 
lieved in  the  name  of  the  only  begotten  son  of  God.  For 
Jesus  is  the  light  of  the  world,  and  those  who  love  Him  and 
keep  His  commandments  are  walking  in  the  light.” 

All  we  have  to  do  is  to  ask  God  to  forgive  us  of  our 
sins  and  believe  that  He  will,  and  it  is  done.  For  “accord- 
ing to  your  faith  so  be  it  unto  you,”  saith  the  Lord,  “God  is 
a spirit  and  they  that  worship  Him  must  worship  Him  in 
Spirit  and  in  Truth.”  Though  you  cannot  see  Him,  He  is 
right  here  listening  to  all  we  say.  He  reads  our  very 
thoughts,  and  knows  whether  we  are  sincere  or  not. 

Isaiah  i : 18,  “Come  now,  and  let  us  reason  together, 
saith  the  Lord.  Though  our  sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be 
as  white  as  snow ; though  they  be  red  like  crimson,  they 
shall  be  as  wool.”  “Will  you  believe  this?  This  is  for 
you.”  “Oh,  I am  so  troubled,”  she  said ; “I  want  to  do 
right.  I want  to  be  saved.”  “ W ell,  my  dear,  hear  what  He 
says  to  you : St.  Matt,  v :6,  “Blessed  are  they  which  do 
hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness,  for  they  shall  be 
filled.”  Now  you  are  hungry  to  do  right,  to  be  saved.  He 
says  because  you  have  this  desire,  you  shall  be  filled.”  “Oh, 
yes,”  she  said,  “I  love  HIM.”  And  then  I read  from  St. 


90 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


Matt,  xxi  :22,  “And  all  things  whatsoever  ye  shall  ask  in 
prayer  believing  ye  shall  receive.”  We  knelt  and  prayed. 
The  tears  were  falling  as  she  sobbed  and  cried  aloud,  “Lord 
help  me.”  I said  to  her,  “He  is  willing  to  save  you  just  now. 
Romans  x-8:i4.  Do  you  trust  HIM?”  “Oh,  yes,  with 
all  my  heart ; and  with  all  my  soul  and  strength.  Oh,  yes,  I 
do  believe.  Thank  God.”  She  was  sitting  on  the  bed  then. 
The  smiles  coming  after  tears  reminded  me  of  sunshine 
when  the  rain  is  slackening. 

She  had  faith  in  God.  The  clouds  of  unbelief  had 
passed  away.  I exhorted  her  to  pray,  to  continue  praying, 
and  ask  God  each  morn  of  her  life  to  protect,  guard  and 
guide  her.  She  thanked  me  for  the  help  I had  given  her. 

The  hour  came  for  me  to  go  to  the  Shankill  Mission. 
She  wanted  to  go  with  me.  As  we  descended  the  stairs  we 
found  five  other  girls  who  wanted  to  go,  and  so  they  joined 
us. 

I was  introduced  and  spoke  from  St.  John  xi.  Mary 
and  Martha  in  their  sore  trouble,  sent  to  tell  Jesus.  He 
came  and  there  was  joy  in  that  home  that  night.  The 
brother  who  was  dead  is  alive  and  with  them  again.  Let  us 
tell  Jesus  all  our  troubles,  He  will  help  us.  He  knows  just 
what  to  do  if  we  will  only  trust  Him,  love,  obey  Him,  all  will 
be  well.  Never  a night  too  dark  for  Him  to  come;  never 
a road  too  long.  I again  sang  that  very  sweet  and  com- 
forting song : 

“I  must  tell  Jesus  all  of  my  troubles, 

I cannot  bear  these  burdens  alone, 

In  my  distress,  He  kindly  will  keep  me, 

He  ever  loves  and  cares  for  His  own. 

I must  tell  Jesus,  I must  tell  Jesus, 

I cannot  bear  these  burdens  alone, 

I must  tell  Jesus,  I must  tell  Jesus, 

Jesus  can  help  me,  Jesus  alone.” 

There  is  not  one  of  us  who  has  not  had  some  burdens 
to  bear.  Some  have  grown  weary  of  the  burden  of  trying  to 
bear  it  alone  but  finally  found  it  too  heavy.  Brooding  over 
these  burdens  night  after  night,  then  instead  of  telling  it  to 
Jesus  and  trusting  it  all  to  him,  they  steal  away  with  a pistol 
in  hand,  a loud  report  is  heard,  a soul  hurled  into  everlasting 


ON  IRISH  SOIL 


91 


misery  and  woe,  forever  banished  from  earth,  and  worse 
yet,  from  God. 

Just  now  I am  thinking  of  a corpse  found  floating  in 
a canal  not  far  from  my  home  at  New  Orleans.  It  was  that  of 
a young  girl  with  long  golden  hair.  She  was  dragged 
ashore.  Soon  the  coroner  came  and  examining  the  corpse, 
found  a note  on  her  person.  He  read  it  and  the  sad  story 
was  told:  “I  am  tiled  of  living.  I have  been  deceived.  I 
was  promised  marriage  but  was  disappointed.  I cannot  bear 
the  shame  of  being-  a mother  and  not  a wife.  I cannot  live 
with  this  shame  to  face  the  world.  I go  to  meet  God.  Pray 
for  me.”  Too  late  for  prayers  when  we  are  dead.  There  is 
no  repentance  beyond  the  grave.  It  is  true  her  burden  was 
heavy,  her  grief  might  have  seemed  unbearable,  but  was 
not  the  grace  of  God  sufficient  to  make  even  that  burden 
light?  Oh,  if  those  burdened  souls  would  only  tell  it  to 
Jesus  ! Are  you  weary,  are  you  heavy  laden?  Take  all  your 
complaints  to  the  Master.  He  is  ready,  He  is  able,  He  is 
willing,  He  is  merciful.  Oh,  yes,  He  will  take  care  of  His 
own. 

I have  had  troubles — heavy  ones — I took  them  to 
Jesus.  He  bore  them  for  me.  I can  sing  in  the  midst  of 
them.  Don’t  you  know  He  says,  “Blessed  are  they  who 
mourn,  for  they  shall  be  comforted.”  That  means  that 
when  we  tell  our  troubles  to  Him  and  resolve  to  trust  Him. 

I left  with  the  girls  for  my  room.  I had  them  coupled 
off.  The  girl  who  was  converted  in  my  room  was  clinging 
to  me.  We  were  behind.  Her  soul  was  happy.  She  sang 
as  we  walked  along  regardless  of  the  many  passers-by: 

I hear  Thy  welcome  voice, 

That  calls  me,  Lord,  to  Thee, 

For  cleansing  in  Thy  precious  blood, 

That  flowed  on  Calvary. 

I am  coming,  Lord, 

Coming  now  to  Thee, 

Wash  me,  cleanse  me  in  Thy  blood, 

That  flowed  from  Calvary. 

What  joy  comes  into  the  heart  of  the  sinner  when  the 
second  birth  takes  place;  when  they  believed  that  Jesus  paid 


92 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


it  all  long  ago  and  they  have  made  a personal  application 
for  that  faith,  love  and  peace  which  passeth  all  human  un- 
derstanding is  theirs. 

Do  you  not  remember  that  mighty  gathering  at  Jeru- 
salem of  Parthians,  Arabians,  Medes,  Mesopotamians,  Jews, 
Egyptians,  Elamites,  Ethiopians,  etc.,  etc.?  How  the  Apos- 
tles spoke  to  them  and  how  attentively  they  listened?  How 
many  of  them  were  baptized  after  hearing  of  the  sufferings, 
death  and  resurrection  of  the  Saviour?  They  did  not  wait 
for  a better  opportunity.  They  did  not  wait  to  see  if  they 
might  come  to  Christ  but  came  at  once,  believing  and  re- 
ceiving the  Baptism.  Over  3,000  converts  were  added  to 
the  church  that  day.  The  disciples  preached  a clean-cut 
gospel ; no  frills,  no  trying  to  please  the  world  of  fashion, 
no  working  for  large  salaries  to  build  palaces  to  live  in ; no 
laying  away  where  moth  doth  corrupt  or  thieves  break 
through  and  steal.  They  were  satisfied.  They  knew  they 
had  a place  above  not  made  with  human  hands  but  eternal 
in  the  heavens. 

How  happy  is  every  child  of  grace, 

Who  feels  his  sins  forgiven ; 

This  earth,  he  cried,  is  not  my  place, 

I seek  a home  in  heaven. 

A country  far  from  mortal  sight, 

Yet,  oh,  by  faith  I view, 

A country  fair  the  saints  delight, 

A heaven  prepared  for  you. 

Tuesday  I visited  the  Royal  Botanic  Gardens,  which 
were  very  pretty,  and  covered  about  two  acres  of  ground. 

In  the  evening  I went  to  Rev.  Mr.  Montgomery’s  Mission 
Hall  again,  found  him  pleading  with  souls  as  usual.  Every 
child  seemed  to  love  him.  Even  the  saloon-keeper,  whose 
traffic  he  condemned  in  the  strongest  terms,  seemed  to  like 
and  respect  this  man  of  God.  He  preached  at  his  own 
church,  a good  mile  away,  on  Sunday  evening,  and  walked 
to  the  Mission  Hall,  as  he  did  not  believe  in  riding  on  the 
Sabbath.  He  took  up  his  text  and  preached  a clear,  plain 
sermon,  laboring  with  any  who  would  remain  after  service, 
praying  and  teaching  them  the  way  to  Christ,  being  full  of 
the  love  of  God,  patient,  kind  and  loving  to  all,  giving  a 


ON  IRISH  SOIL 


93 


cheerful  word  here  and  there  as  he  passed  through  the 
crowd.  Such  is  the  Rev.  Mr.  Henry  Montgomery  of  Belfast, 
Ireland.  Oh,  for  more  such  men  to  labor  in  the  vineyard  of 
the  Lord,  and  to  lead  the  gospel  army  along. 

Wednesday  I was  out  sightseeing.  I visited  the  great 
store  of  Robinson  and  Cleaver,  fancy  linen  manufacturers. 
The  ground  floor  is  used  as  a sales  room  and  general  drapery 
shop.  There  one  can  see  the  women  making  lace  by  hand, 
embroidering  handkerchiefs  and  ladies’  wearing  apparel.  I 
went  to  the  top  of  the  building  where  I had  a good  view  of 
the  city  of  Belfast,  which  is  certainly  worth  seeing.  On  the 
outskirts  of  the  city  can  be  seen  the  hills  which  enclose  the 
city.  These  hills  are  covered  with  wild  flowers,  which  seem 
to  form  a most  beautiful  background  to  the  city  of  pressed 
brick  and  stone  buildings. 

I returned  to  the  institute  tired  out,  found  a Mr.  Vance, 
of  Clorine  Garden,  awaiting  me.  He  is  a wealthy  philan- 
thropist who  has  three  large  homes  at  Bangor-by-the-Sea, 
about  twenty  miles  from  Belfast,  where  he  entertains  at 
the  small  sum  of  $1.75  per  week  any  tired  holiday-hunting 
man,  woman  or  child.  He  came  to  ask  me  to  go  on  Thurs- 
day to  visit  these  homes  and  deliver  addresses.  In  the 
meanwhile  two  ministers  had  called  and  as  soon  as  I had 
shaken  hands  with  Mr.  Vance  and  had  seen  him  to  the  door, 
I was  called  into  the  secretary’s  private  parlor  to  meet  them. 
They  were  reverend  gentlemen,  who  wished  me  to  speak  to 
their  congregations  on  Sunday.  I explained  to  them  with 
regret  that  I would  be  unable  to  do  so  as  I had  an  engage- 
ment in  Glasgow  for  Sunday  and  my  steamer  ticket  was  out 
on  Friday.  They  offered  to  buy  me  another  ticket  if  I would 
cancel  this  engagement,  but  I could  not  do  that.  One  of 
the  gentlemen  turned  to  the  other  and  asked  if  it  would  be 
right  to  pray  that  a fog  would  rise  and  prevent  the  steamer 
leaving,  or  worse  still,  a storm.  We  all  joined  in  a hearty 
laugh.  They  regretted  very  much  my  short  stay  of  only  a 
week  and  asked  me  to  return  to  them  as  soon  as  I could.  I 
said  good-bye  and  just  as  I was  about  to  ascend  the  stairs 
a lady  called  to  ask  if  I would  address  a mission  she  had 
charge  of,  on  Thursday  evening.  I,  of  course,  had  to  refuse 
this  invitation  also,  as  I had  two  engageemnts  to  fill  that 
day.  The  bell  rang  for  supper;  I went  down.  A minister’s 
wife  came  to  say  her  husband  had  sent  her  to  ask  if  I 
would  speak  to  his  congregation  on  Friday  night.  This  I 


94 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


was  again  compelled  to  refuse,  as  I would  leave  the  city  on 
that  evening.  At  last  I was  relieved  of  these  many  kind- 
hearted  people  who  did  me  the  honor  to  wish  me  to  speak 
for  them. 

Thursday  we  were  at  the  station.  Mr.  Vance  secured 
our  tickets.  We  got  into  a first-class  carriage,  several  other 
gentlemen  going  along.  Mr.  Black,  a worthy  Christian 
leader  of  the  Belfast  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  wanted  to  know  if  I could 
give  them  a lecture.  I regretted  that  I could  not.  Arriving 
at  Bangor  we  took  the  only  conveyance  in  sight — the  Irish 
jaunting  car.  Looking  perplexedly  at  this  car,  Mr.  Vance 
noticed  me  and  guessed  the  trouble.  “Have  you  ever  rid- 
den on  one  before  ?”  he  asked.  “No,  sir.”  “Well,”  he  laugh- 
ingly said,  “come,  don’t  be  afraid,  let  me  help  you  up.”  He 
advised  me  to  plant  my  feet  firmly  and  hold  on  to  the  iron 
rail.  No  need  to  tell  me  this,  for  I was  already  holding  on 
with  a good  grip  as  if  my  life  depended  upon  it. 

The  driver  started  off  at  a good  pace  and  I felt  as  if  I 
were  on  a see-saw.  Finally  we  reached  the  house,  a large 
three-story  brick  building,  high  on  the  hills,  facing  the  sea. 
The  matron  kindly  showed  me  around.  After  this  we  visited 
the  men  and  boys’  holiday  home,  about  fifteen  minutes  walk. 
This  is  on  the  same  order  as  the  first.  They  were  to  as- 
semble at  the  large  hall  of  the  girls’  home  at  half  past  five 
when  I was  to  address  them.  The  hour  having  arrived, 
Mr.  Vance  and  the  matron  led  the  way.  The  hall  was  filled. 
I spoke  forty  minutes.  They  seemed  favorably  impressed 
and  many  came  forward  to  shake  my  hand. 

After  supper  the  man  came  forward  with  his  jaunting 
car  to  take  us  to  the  station,  where  we  got  our  car  to  Bel- 
fast. 

I reached  the  institute  just  in  time  to  lay  off  my  jacket 
and  go  on  the  rostrum,  where  there  had  been  placed  a lovely 
bouquet  of  roses  with  their  inviting  odor.  Several  hymns 
were  sung.  After  being  introduced  I selected  my  hymn, 
prayed,  read  a chapter  and  explained  it.  Some  were  moved 
to  tears  and  remained  to  be  prayed  for.  This  was  my 
last  night  in  Belfast.  I could  hardly  get  away  to  my  room, 
because  there  were  so  many  girls  who  wanted  to  speak  to  me, 
or  have  me  write  my  name  in  their  autograph  albums.  I never 
could  boast  of  my  penmanship,  but,  of  course,  I accommodated 
as  many  as  could  make  their  way  to  me. 


ON  IRISH  SOIL 


95 


Friday  was  nice  and  clear  in  the  morning  but  cloudy  in 
the  evening  and  rain  came  down  in  torrents.  I had  letters  tq 
write,  my  bag  to  pack,  which  was  indoor  work ; hence  I was  not 
worried. 

In  the  meanwhile  a letter  came  from  Mr.  Buchanan,  invit- 
ing me  to  his  home  to  spend  the  day  with  four  other  ladies.  I 
answered,  accepting  and  thanking  him.  As  it  was  still  raining 
and  I must  leave  the  institute  at  three  o’clock  to  catch  the 
steamer  at  four,  I got  the  superintendent  to  send  a maid  in 
quest  of  a cab.  Finding  none,  she  ordered  a jaunting  car, 
which  I again  mounted,  my  umbrella  in  hand  to  keep  off  the 
rain,  as  these  conveyances  have  no  covers.  We  went  off  amid 
a chorus  of  good-byes.  We  had  ridden  about  seven  squares 
when  I noticed  in  front  an  Irish  woman  with  a whip  in  hand 
urging  on  a donkey  attached  to  a little  two-wheeled  wagon 
filled  with  vegetables.  We  were  almost  upon  them  and  the 
donkey  had  made  up  his  mind  to  be  stubborn,  and  as  quickly  as 
a thought,  backed  across  our  path.  I realized  the  gravity  of 
the  situation,  and  prepared  myself  to  fall  into  a soft  spot. 
When  the  driver  saw  just  what  was  coming  he  wheeled  his 
horse  just  in  time,  and  I was  saved  from  a mix-up  with  the 
vegetables.  I looked  back  when  we  were  two  squares  off,  and 
still  the  fat  bareheaded  Irish  woman  was  arguing  with  the  con- 
trary animal,  which  shook  its  head  and  seemed  bent  on  turning 
around  in  that  particular  place. 

At  last  I was  aboard  the  steamer  and  we  were  soon  on  our 
way.  The  sea  was  rough,  the  spray  splashed  on  deck,  but  I 
stuck  to  it.  Many  who  had  gone  into  the  saloon  below  to 
escape  the  water  had  become  seasick. 

After  six  hours  on  the  Irish  Sea  we  reached  our  destina- 
tion. We  boarded  a train  at  Ardrossan  for  Glasgow,  which 
place  we  reached  at  eleven  o’clock  at  night.  The  Misses  Gron- 
beck  were  there  to  meet  us  and  what  a pleasure  it  was  to  meet 
these  dear  friends ! They  relieved  me  of  my  luggage.  We 
walked  to  the  institute,  a short  distance,  where  I was  expect- 
ed. Feeling  somewhat  fatigued,  I was  glad  to  get  to  my 
room. 

Saturday  the  Misses  Gronbeck  came  to  take  me  to  Kil- 
leam,  the  home  of  Mr.  Buchanan.  We  were  at  the  depot  and 
an  hour’s  ride  brought  us  to  Killearn,  a lovely  country  village, 
with  here  and  there  a pretty  grayish  stone  house  with  thatched 
roof,  the  typical  country  garden  with  potatoes,  gooseberries, 
and  cabbages.  Leaving  here,  a few  minutes’  walk  brought  us 


96 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


to  the  public  road.  Large  trees  with  their  leafy  boughs  were 
lined  on  either  side,  casting  a cool  shade  over  the  road,  thus 
protecting  us  from  the  brightly  shining  sun.  Away  to  the  left 
we  saw  the  great  rocky  hills  rising  nearly  to  the  clouds,  appar- 
ently, and  a cow  standing  on  the  very  top,  though  it  seemed 
hardly  possible'  that  an  animal  could  have  climbed  such  a steep 
hill. 


We  crossed  the  river,  which  was  spanned  by  a stone  bridge 
half  covered  with  ivy.  The  spot  was  so  fascinating  we  could 
scarcely  tear  ourselves  away.  We  stood  for  quite  a while 
watching  the  water  as  it  tumbled  over  the  rocks,  then  wound  its 
way  in  and  out  around  the  steep  hills.  We  turned  about  to  con- 
tinue our  walk  to  the  glen  which  we  saw  in  the  distance.  In- 
stead of  following  the  road  which  had  many  turns,  we  took  a 
short  cut  across  the  fields  of  newly-mown  hay.  Reaching  the 
entrance  of  the  glen,  what  a sight  greeted  our  eyes  ! How  will  I 
find  words  to  describe  this  most  beautiful  handiwork  of  nature? 
In  the  middle  is  seen  an  amber-colored  stream  about  ten  feet 
in  the  widest  part.  On  the  left  is  a path,  in  some  places  not  a 
foot  wide,  and  rising  high  above  us  on  either  side,  one  hundred 
or  more  feet.  A continuous  wall  of  stone  covered  here  and 
there  with  liverwort,  and  a close  clinging,  short,  feathery-like 
moss,  and  a few  bluebells  and  yellow  mites,  and  other  flowers 
varying  in  color  followed  the  path. 

We  passed  on  to  the  “wishing  well”  close  to  the  stone  wall 
where  we  had  to  walk  very  near  to  the  large  stream  to  keep 
from  stepping  in  the  well.  The  well  is  round  and  seems  not 
more  than  a foot  in  depth  from  the  crown  to  the  white  rocky 
bottom.  Having  a cup,  our  party  of  five  drank  again  and 
again  of  this  cool,  clear,  sparkling  water,  but  it  was  just  as 
full  when  we  stopped  as  when  we  began. 

We  passed  on  around  the  curve  of  a roughly  hollowed-out 
rocky  wall,  octagon-shaped,  about  twelve  feet  wide.  Its  wall 
and  ceiling  are  richly  tinted  and  overhead  on  the  brow  of  the 
hill  are  trees  with  their  bright  green  foliage  meeting  across  the 
opening,  now  and  then  allowing  rays  of  sun  to  peer  faintly 
through.  The  wind,  like  a living  thing,  seemed  to  whisper 
through  their  boughs.  My  friends  and  I were  so  filled  with 
the  solemn  beauty  of  the  surroundings  that  we  were  tempted  to 
consult  our  muse,  with  the  following  results : 


ON  IRISH  SOIL 


97 


“In  Finnick’s  Glen,  sequestered  dell, 

Where  wild  flowers  in  profusion  bloom, 

I stood  beside  the  ‘wishing  well,’ 

One  lovely  autumn  afternoon. 

The  sight  which  met  my  raptured  gaze, 

And  fixed  itself  upon  my  brain, 

Shall  never  be  by  time  erased, 

Although  I never  visit  it  again. 

A rock  scooped  out  by  hands  unseen, 

Stands  like  a temple,  grand  and  old, 

The  walls  are  hung  with  emerald  green, 
Which  autumn’s  breath  will  soon  turn  gold. 
The  roof  with  splendor  all  its  own, 
Unconsciously  attracts  the  eye, 

And  greater  beauty  still  is  shown 
To  all  who  will  but  venture  nigh. 

Rich  shades  of  brown  and  sombre  gray, 
With  red  and  amber  all  unite, 

Affording  a unique  display 
Of  varied  colors  dark  and  bright. 

Huge  pieces  of  that  hallowed  rock, 

With  liverwort  are  covered  o’er, 

These  form  the  seats  which  rest  upon 
The  thick  moss  carpet  on  the  floor. 

No  sound  of  preacher’s  voice  is  heard; 

’Tis  nature  speaks  to  all  who  hear, 
Through  rippling  brooklet,  tree  and  bird, 
Just  lend  her  an  attentive  ear. 

I’ll  never  pass  this  way  again, 

To  slake  the  thirst  of  flower  and  tree; 

So  let  me  seize  the  moments  when 
A help  to  others  I may  be. 

A bird  up  in  the  shady  tree, 

In  sweetest  dulcet  tones  did  raise 
A song  of  simple  melody, 

To  thrill  out  its  Creator’s  praise. 

Praise  for  a father's  tender  care; 

Praise  for  the  spreading  oak  tree’s  shade ; 
Praise  for  the  beauty  everywhere ; 

Praise  for  all  this  beauty  He  made. 


98 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


The  humble  lichen  and  the  fern 
Have  each  a mission  to  fulfill ; 

In  their  own  sphere  could  we  but  learn 
To  do  so  quietly  God’s  will. 

A little  blue-eyed,  smiling  flower 
Looked  up  from  a shady  spot, 

With  a message  sweet  from  her  bower; 

God  says  through  me,  “forget-me-not.” 

“What  say  you,  little  sparkling  well, 

With  water  overflowing  so?” 

“Oh,  I’ve  been  here  for  centuries, 

And  I delight  to  overflow. 

I live  for  others’  happiness, 

And  doing  this  I find  my  own ; 

God  wishes  me  to  live  for  this, 

Inside  my  little  walls  of  stone.” 

The  wind  sent  through  the  trees  a sigh, 

And  sadly  breathed  a requiem, 

O’er  these  sweet  flowers,  which  so  soon  shall  die, 

And  sleep  the  cold  dark  earth  within. 

Farewell,  farewell,  thou  brooklet  clear, 

Thou  temple  rock  and  sparkling  well ; 

Birds,  trees,  and  flowers  dear, 

In  Killearn  in  Finnick’s  Glen,  farewell.” 

After  a stroll  through  the  village,  which  was  a mile  from 
the  Glen,  we  returned  to  the  station  where  we  got  our  car  to 
Glasgow. 

Sunday  was  a fair  day,  so  I visited  the  mission  and  spoke 
at  Victoria  Hall  at  eleven  o’clock  to  a splendid  audience  of 
about  400  people.  I spoke  only  fifteen  minutes  and  then  bade 
these  kind  Scotch  friends  good-bye. 

Sunday  we  had  a song  and  prayer  service  at  the  institute. 
They  knew  I was  to  leave  before  another  Sunday,  so  I had  to 
do  all  the  singing. 

Monday  morning  I got  my  belongings  together,  wrote  a 
number  of  letters  home,  one  to  The  Item,  which  took  much  of 
my  time. 

Tuesday  I took  tea  with  some  of  my  friends,  then  a last 
look  at  Glasgow’s  shops. 


IN  LONDON  AND  PARIS 


99 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IN  LONDON  AND  PARIS. 

Wednesday  I boarded  a train  for  London.  We  arrived  at 
Victoria  Station  at  nine  o’clock  at  night  and  as  my  friend,  Miss 
Firth,  lived  some  distance  from  London,  I had  a half-hour’s 
ride  by  the  underground  train  and  another  half  by  the  surface 
train.  Finally,  I reached  her  home.  She  was  glad  to  see  me 
but  scolded  me  because  I did  not  write,  telling  her  what  hour  I 
would  arrive  so  that  they  could  meet  me ; for  they  feared  I 
might  get  lost  coming  for  the  first  time  to  the  largest  city  in  the 
world. 

I spent  Thursday  reading  and  writing  letters,  one  to  my 
friend,  Helen  Noble,  who  was  still  urging  me  to  come  on  to 
Paris.  After  a week’s  rest  in  London  I left  for  Paris,  France. 
After  a little  tossing  at  the  docks  we  were  off  for  the  continent. 
I was  feeling  drowsy  and  went  to  the  ladies’  cabin  for  rest.  I 
found  three  deep  lines  of  shelves  known  as  berths.  The  wall 
was  covered  with  velvet  cushions.  I was  assigned  to  one  of 
these  shelves  by  the  stewardess.  Being  the  top  shelf  I didn’t 
care  much  for  it,  so  she  condescended  to  give  me  a lower  one. 
When  we  had  slept  about  three  hours  the  captain  and  purser 
came  to  collect  our  tickets,  then  left  us  to  our  uninterrupted 
slumber.  In  a little  while  we  heard  the  boat  whistle  for 
Dieppe.  We  scrambled  on  deck,  bags  in  hand,  ready  to  go 
ashore.  We  were  soon  in  the  searching  room,  our  bags  exam- 
ined and  released,  and  on  the  cars  ready  to  start  for  Paris. 
The  train  started,  stopped,  started,  stopped  again  and  continued 
this  nearly  all  the  way  to  Paris.  I was  told  by  a gentleman 
that  the  guard,  who  sometimes  forgets  his  lunch,  simply  stops 
the  train  short,  keeps  it  standing  for  a quarter  of  an  hour  until 
he  has  taken  his  lunch  at  some  wayside  creamery.  He  picks 
his  teeth  awhile,  then  with  a grunt  of  satisfaction  boards  the 
train,  blows  the  whistle  and  pulls  out.  We  should  have  ar- 
rived at  Gare  St.  Lazare  Station  according  to  schedule  at  7:15 
a.  m.,  but  it  pleased  our  crew  to  bring  us  in  at  eleven  a.  m. 

My  friends  were  awaiting  me.  We  took  a cab  for  Rue  de 
Berrie,  paying  one  franc  and  fifty  centimes.  As  soon  as  I was 
settled  in  my  room  I got  my  money  and  began  to  exchange  the 
English  money  for  French.  When  I left  America  I had 
changed  some  money  at  the  Philadelphia  docks  into  English 
money,  with  which  at  times,  I would  amuse  myself  counting  it 


100 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


over  and  over,  feeling  perfectly  sure  I had  it  all  right,  but  when 
I went  shopping  at  Edinburgh  the  clerk  informed  me  that  the 
waterproof  which  I desired  to  purchase  was  twenty-four  shil- 
lings nine  pence  ha’penny.  I was  completely  dazed  and  all  my 
knowledge  of  the  table  of  English  money  had  flown.  Luckily 
for  me  my  hostess,  Miss  Hog,  helped  me  out. 

For  example : A guinea  or  sovereign  and  four  shillings 
or  six-pence  and  a tri-penny  bit  and  nine-pence,  all  together 
in  American  money  would  be  six  dollars  and  six  cents.  So  I 
went  home  and  made  up  my  mind  to  get  the  money  all  straight- 
ened out.  I had  it  all  right  now  and  could  count  it  as  quickly 
as  anyone  else.  I had  a handful  of  French  money — five  cen- 
times, one  sou,  twenty  centimes,  two  sou.  One  piece,  fifty 
centimes,  is  about  the  size  of  a ten-cent  piece  in  American 
money;  a franc,  or  ioo  centimes,  is  a handful  of  coppers, 
amounting  to  only  twenty  cents  in  our  money;  then  the  two- 
franc  pieces — only  forty  cents — are  about  the  size  of  an  Ameri- 
can half-dollar. 

At  last  I had  mastered  it.  I did  not  go  out  Saturday  but 
took  a much-needed  rest  to  be  ready  for  Sunday.  I went  to  an 
American  church  just  in  the  block  near  me.  All  the  seats  were 
taken,  but  I enjoyed  the  service.  In  the  evening  we  entertained 
these  visitors:  Mr.  Calloway,  in  charge  of  the  Negro  Educa- 
tional Exhibit  at  the  Exposition;  Mr.  Herndon,  of  Atlanta, 
Ga. ; Mr.  Lewis  and  Mr.  Franklin,  of  New  Orleans,  La.,  and 
Miss  Warrick,  of  Philadelphia,  who  was  studying  sculpture  in 
Paris.  The  evening  was  pleasantly  spent,  and  after  chatting  a 
little  while  we  retired  to  rest. 

Monday  I spent  the  day  at  the  Exposition,  having  a com- 
plimentary ticket.  It  is  useless  for  me  to  attempt  any  descrip- 
tion of  the  great  Exposition.  However,.  I must  make  some 
mention  of  the  things  which  attracted  my  attention  most. 

The  electric  illumination  was  most  magnificent,  especially 
that  of  the  Eiffel  Tower,  which  was  a blaze  of  light.  It  is  the 
highest  structure  in  Paris ; indeed,  it  is  said  to  be  the  highest 
in  the  world  made  by  human  hands.  The  River  Seine  looks 
very  pretty,  lined  on  either  side  by  the  many  buildings  all  aglow 
with  the  reflections  from  the  numerous  colored  lights.  With 
the  steam  tugs  plying  up  and  down  the  water,  crowded  with 
merry  pleasure-seekers,  it  would  seem  like  a dream  but  for  the 
noisy  babble  and  the  band  playing  in  the  Trocadero.  It  was 
late  and  my  eyes  were  tired.  I had  seen  enough  for  the  day. 


IN  LONDON  AND  PARIS 


101 


Tuesday  we  took  in  some  of  the  sights  of  Paris,  beginning 
with  the  large  stores,  then  to  the  Latin  quarter  where  we  were 
to  spend  the  evening  and  have  supper  in  Miss  Warrick’s  studio 
—a  lovely  artistic  little  den.  With  music  and  tea  the  time  soon 
passed.  Our  pleasant  company  parted  and  another  day  had 
flown. 

Wednesday,  we  spent  at  the  Exposition  again,  visiting  the 
Beaux  Arts,  with  the  lifelike  pictures,  and  beautiful  statuary. 
It  is  difficult  to  tell  which  was  the  best.  We  wandered  from 
building  to  building,  viewing  here  and  there  the  marvelous  skill 
and  genius  of  the  men  and  women  of  to-day.  Once  we  stopped 
to  see  them  manufacture  liquid  air,  and  I asked  my  Father  in 
Heaven,  “What  next?”  We  remained  till  nine  o’clock  at  night 
to  see  the  largest  cinematograph  in  the  world  in  the  Salle  de 
Fete  where  thousands  were  gathered  and  seated  to  witness  it. 
It  was  as  amusing  as  it  was  beautiful  to  see  these  lifelike  pic- 
tures of  people  moving  along.  This  being  over,  we  departed 
for  home. 

Thursday  we  decided  to  remain  indoors  for  recuperation 
and  to  write,  having  tired  ourselves  out  the  day  before. 

Friday  we  were  off  to  the  Exposition  again.  We  first  vis- 
ited the  Palace  of  Illusions,  then  the  Petit  Palais,  after  which 
we  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  morning  in  Mr.  Calloway’s  de- 
partment observing  the  Negro  exhibit,  of  which  we  felt  justly 
proud,  for  it  equaled  any  of  the  . Saxon  race.  The  Negro  must 
be  given  credit  for  having  made  such  wonderful  strides  toward 
the  highest  type  of  Christian  civilization,  to  say  nothing  of  his 
progress  in  art,  literature,  science,  etc.,  and  all  in  a little  more 
than  a quarter  of  a century.  If  one  could  have  looked  upon 
the  wonderful  productions  of  this  people  at  the  Paris  Exposi- 
tion I believe  he  would  hardly  ask  himself  the  question,  “Where 
will  the  Negro  rank  in  the  great  progress  of  humanity  at  the 
close  of  the  twentieth  century?”  Father  Time  alone  can  an- 
swer. But  permit  me  to  say.  although  kept  down  by  oppression 
and  everything  which  tends  to  discourage,  he  will  take  his 
place,  one  day,  among  the  greatest  races  of  the  world. 

I have  the  picture  of  Tuskegee’s  great  industrial  institute 
in  my  mind  and  I look  back  to  see  whence  it  came.  I see  Book- 
er T.  Washington  coming  through  hard  trials  and  many  cares, 
coming  to  take  his  place  and  to  lead  his  people  out  of  the  wil- 
derness of  ignorance. 


102 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


Tuskegee,  thou  art  as  a light  upon  a high  hill  whose  rays 
are  reflected  throughout  the  universe.  May  the  sunshine  of  thy 
glory  continue  to  dawn  on  benighted  Africa. 

We  visited  the  Louvre,  the  National  Art  Gallery  of  France. 
It  is  a very  large  stone  structure,  the  pride  of  the  city  and  na- 
tion. It  has  a most  beautiful  and  rare  collection  of  paintings 
and  sculpture.  One  could  spend  days  looking  at  these  crea- 
tions of  man’s  brain  and  marvel  at  his  ingenuity,  feeling  sure 
that  God  has  made  him  next  to  Himself.  Here  we  see  the 
original  statue  of  the  much-praised  Venus  de  Milo.  My  freind 
Helen  knew  my  time  was  short,  so  we  left  here  for  the  Pan- 
theon. 

Here,  too,  could  be  seen  the  paintings  of  H.  O.  Tanner, 
one  of  the  sons  of  Africa,  his  “Raising  of  Lazarus,”  which 
was  purchased  by  the  French  Republic  and  hung  in  their 
museum,  and  his  “Daniel  in  the  Lion’s  Den.”  For  these  he 
received  the  Grand  Prix  in  the  Exposition. 

The  Pantheon  has  many  underground  cellars,  we  are  told 
170  crypts  or  burial  places.  The  building  is  very  old,  having 
gone  through  several  wars,  and  it  is  still  strong  and  intact. 
Here  lie  Voltaire,  Victor  Hugo,  John  J.  Rousseau,  President 
Carnot,  Brethelot,  and  many  others  whose  lives  help  to  make 
the  history  of  France.  Senfleu,  the  architect  who  furnished 
the  model  for  this  building,  killed  himself  by  jumping  from  the 
top  to  the  ground  because  the  building  did  not  present  the  im- 
posing picture  he  expected  it  would.  He  sleeps  here  among 
the  other  noted  characters. 

Saturday,  we  visited  the  tomb  of  the  great  Napoleon,  which 
is  a massive  structure,  facing  the  river  Seine,  and  as  we  leaned 
over  the  rail  and  gazed  upon  the  raised  marble  base  supporting 
the  casket  that  holds  the  dust  of  the  world’s  greatest  general, 
the  thought  came  to  me,  how  much  more  worthily  this  man 
could  have  employed  his  dauntless  courage  and  determination! 
Here  he  lies,  or  what  is  left  of  the  once  great  character,  in  deep 
slumber,  in  everlasting  sleep,  the  sleep  that  must  come  to  all 
whether  he  be  rich  or  poor,  master  or  servant,  king  or  serf. 

The  lofty  dome  overhead  is  artistically  painted  by  masters 
long  since  dead.  The  long  octagon-shaped  stained  glass  win- 
dows let  in  a peculiar  light  which  fell  full  upon  a cross  bearing 
the  image  of  our  Saviour.  This  cross  stands  directly  over  the 
entrance  to  the  crypt,  behind  which  is  the  exit  from  the  church 
whose  high  carved  a.rched  ceiling  is  decorated  with  the  many 


IN  LONDON  AND  PARIS 


103 


flags  Napoleon  won  in  battles.  He  has  his  wish;  before  dying 
he  said:  “Let  my  ashes  rest  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine  among 
the  people  I so  much  loved.” 

We  left  here  to  go  to  the  morgue.  It  is  strange  what  a 
peculiar  fascination  the  horrible  has  for  some.  While  one  look 
is  more  than  enough  for  me  others  stand  and  gaze  long  at  these 
gruesome  sights  of  silent  ones  lying  there  staring  at  the  ceiling 
with  sightless  eyes,  and  frozen  stiff,  awaiting  identification,  or 
burial  at  the  city’s  expense.  Having  enough  of  this  we  left  on 
one  of  the  boats  to  go  down  the  river  Seine,  which  wends  its 
way  through  the  city.  We  passed  through  the  Exposition 
grounds  to  the  suburbs  where  there  were  many  pretty  little 
villas.  The  boat  stopped  at  St.  Cloud,  where  we  decided  to 
get  off  and  see  some  of  the  pretty  places  that  the  royalty  of 
France  delighted  in  building. 

Here  the  German  army  had  a camp  of  80,000  men  while 
besieging  Paris.  There  are  many  monuments  of  these  officers 
to  be  seen  at  this  place.  Here  also  are  the  fine  hunting  grounds 
of  Napoleon  and  his  castle,  together  with  the  castles  of  Zola, 
Gambetta,  and  Worth,  the  well-known  man-milliner  who  has 
dressed  many  of  the  world’s  great  women.  The  first  sight 
which  presented  itself  was  a French  wedding  among  the  middle 
class.  There  were  the  bride  and  groom,  the  father,  the  mother, 
and  other  members  of  the  family,  all  seated  at  tables  on  the 
sidewalk  having  their  dinner,  which  consisted  of  more  drink 
than  food.  This  being  over  they  arose,  the  bride  and  groom 
leading  the  way,  the  bridesmaid  and  best  man  following,  then 
the  family,  all  walking  in  the  middle  of  the  red-gravelled  street. 
The  bride  with  her  white  silk  train  thrown  over  her  arm  and 
her  veil  tied  around  her  waist,  did  not  seem  to  think  of  her 
white  slippers  as  she  fondly  leaned  on  her  husband’s  arm.  We 
joined  in  the  procession  and  followed  this  happy,  cheerful  party 
to  one  of  the  gardens.  But  as  we  were  hungry  we  soon  re- 
traced our  steps  to  the  restaurant  which  we  had  just  passed. 
We  were  hailed  by  a young  girl  who  invited  us  to  stop  at  her 
table,  which  we  did.  The  menu  was  written  in  English  on  a 
large  blackboard  which  hung  on  a tree  near  the  table,  hence  we 
had  no  trouble  in  selecting  what  we  wanted  to  eat.  We  seated 
ourselves  and  gave  our  order  to  the  waiter,  who  brought  us  a 
loaf  of  bread  about  a yard  long  and  about  two  inches  wide,  then 
our  milk,  ham  and  eggs.  We  ate  our  light  supper  , enjoying 
much  the  French  fried  eggs.  We  called  for  our  bill  and  got  it, 
but  were  surprised  at  the  exorbitant  price,  scarcely  believing  we 


104 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


saw  aright.  But  it  was  written  quite  plainly,  5 francs  50  cen- 
times for  three  persons.  My  friend,  Mrs.  Noble,  who  speaks 
French,  called  the  waiter  and  asked  him  to  explain.  He  did. 
Ham  and  eggs  for  three  persons,  75  centimes  each;  milk  for 
three  persons,  30  centimes  per  glass ; bread,  30  centimes  per 
loaf;  in  like  manner  knife  and  fork  so  many  centimes;  table- 
cloth and  napkins  so  many  centimes,  and  last  the  waiter’s  pour- 
boire  (tip).  We  quickly  agreed  and  put  4 francs  on  the  table 
and  walked  away  while  the  waiter  stood  making  many  gestures 
and  talking  loudly.  We  hurried  to  our  boat,  glad  to  shake  the 
dust  of  St.  Cloud  from  our  feet. 

The  ride  back  was  delightful.  As  we  approached  the  Ex- 
position ground  the  lights  from  the  many  buildings  were  reflect- 
ed again  and  again  in  the  water.  The  Eiffel  Tower  sent  out  a 
greater  light  than  all  with  its  myriads  of  electric  globes,  purple 
and  red.  We  left  here  to  take  a ride  on  the  Champs  Elysee 
and  the  boulevards,  where  we  saw  the  cafes  all  aglow  with 
lights  and  the  many  tables  on  the  sidewalks,  nearly  all  occupied 
with  patrons  busy  satisfying  themselves  with  the  essentials  of 
life.  Then  we  visited  the  Bastile.  We  walked  over  this  his- 
toric spot,  and  after  viewing  the  high  statue  erected  in  the  cen- 
ter we  strolled  leisurely  to  our  abode. 

Sunday  we  visited  some  of  the  Protestant  churches,  saw 
many  in  these,  but  few  in  the  other  churches.  After  attending 
early  mass  we  went  out  to  see  how  France  really  spends  her 
Sunday.  Therefore  I must  be  pardoned  for  looking  upon  the 
balance  of  the  day  as  I would  a day  in  the  week.  My  friend 
Helen  advised  that  we  go  to  Versailles  first.  We  boarded  a 
train,  and  after  an  hour’s  ride  and  a half-hour’s  walk  we  reach- 
ed Versailles.  The  streets  were  very  wide  and  well  shaded 
with  trees  which  seemed  to  meet,  presenting  a picturesque  view. 
We  reached  the  gates  of  the  palace  where  we  bought  a book  of 
views  for  fifty  centimes.  We  entered  the  large  courtyard  lead- 
ing to  the  palace  which  was  built  in  the  shape  of  the  letter  “T.” 
We  soon  passed  around  it  and  out  through  the  most  magnificent 
park  I had  ever  seen,  with  its  long  avenues  of  trees  and  its  life 
statues  in  white  marble.  Just  in  front  was  a minature  laW 
whose  center  was  ornamented  by  a large  statue  of  Neptune 
driving  a span  of  horses.  The  sides  of  this  lake  as  far  as  J, 
could  see  were  lined  with  what  looked  like  gray  marble.  All 
the  avenues  seemed  to  terminate  in  the  center  of  this  palace 
ground.  As  you  looked  up  each  avenue  you  caught  a gleam  of 
some  of  the  large  statues.  Among  the  statues  here  and  there 


IN  LONDON  AND  PARIS 


105 


were  seats  placed  in  the  large  green,  evenly-kept  spaces.  Thera 
was  no  such  sign  to  greet  the  eye  as  “Keep  off  the  grass.”  The 
long  benches  on  their  green  carpet  were  rather  inviting  and  one 
was  easily  persuaded  to  stop  awhile.  We  were  unable  to  resist 
the  temptation  so  we  selected  a place  for  rest  where  we  could 
eat  our  luncheon.  This  proved  to  be  cool  and  shady  and  thick- 
ly surrounded  with  shrubbery  which  shut  us  from  sight.  We 
then  took  a tour  through  the  palace  a quarter  of  a mile  in 
length.  It  has  1,800  rooms  and  50  galleries.  If  all  the  pictures 
in  these  rooms  were  placed  side  by  side  they  would  form  a line 
seven  miles  long.  On  hearing  this  we  decided  not  to  attempt 
to  see  them  all.  We  were  stopped  at  the  entrance  to  the  art 
gallery  by  the  guard,  who  demanded  our  parasols  for  the  keep- 
ing of  which  he  charged  25  centimes.  There  were  rooms  full 
of  war  pictures.  Here  we  saw  a picture  of  George  Washing- 
ton and  Lafayette  commanding  the  battle  of  Yorktown.  How 
the  French  glory  in  war ! The  walls  of  the  room  of  Louis 
XYI  were  adorned  with  the  finest  tapestry.  The  bed  with  its> 
rich  silk  draperies,  at  the  head  of  which  stood  his  bust,  was 
beautiful  almost  beyond  description.  The  room  of  his  wife,  a 
much  smaller  apartment,  had  scarcely  any  furniture,  only  here 
and  there  a settee  to  rest  upon.  We  entered  the  saloon  of  mir- 
rors which  reached  from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling.  The  chande- 
liers pendant  from  the  ceiling  were  decorated  with  cut-glass. 
There  were  only  a few  marble  busts  in  this  room.  From  here 
we  went  to  the  statuary  department.  As  is  the  case  in  every 
place  in  France,  nude  pictures  are  to  be  seen  in  abundance.  We 
went  to  another  long  corridor  where  is  found  the  statue  o* 
Catherine  de  Medici,  and  the  figures  of  other  persons  belong- 
ing to  the  French  nobility;  also  those  of  bishops  and  cardinals. 

We  then  wended  our  way  a mile  to  the  further  end  of  the 
palace  grounds,  to  the  Petit  Trianon,  built  by  Louis  XIV  for 
the  lady  whom  he  desired  to  honor.  The  rooms  were  finely 
finished  and  adorned  with  quaint,  lovely  vases,  old  clocks  of 
great  value.  The  bed  stood  just  as  it  did  in  the  days  of  its  fair 
occupant.  From  the  window  one  has  a view  of  a pretty  gar- 
den. Far  beyond,  almost  hidden  from  view  is  another  statue 
standing  in  the  center  of  the  garden.  The  sight  is  so  grand 
one  really  wonders  if  it  isn’t  a dream.  Well  may  the  French 
say,  “La  Belle  France.”  It  also  was  in  this  room  that  Napoleon 
was  divorced  from  the  unhappy  Josephine.  The  room  is  of 
fine  marble.  In  another  room  is  Napoleon’s  billiard  table. 
Next  to  the  room  of  Josephine  is  the  dining  room  of  Marie 


106 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


Antoinette,  and  the  reception  room  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  It 
has  the  finest  of  gilt  furniture  and  paintings  of  the  past  mon- 
archs  of  France.  Here  also  is  the  bedroom  beautifully  fur- 
nished which  was  used  by  Queen  Victoria  when  on  a visit  to 
France.  We  next  visited  the  carriage-house  and  saw  the  car- 
riage Napoleon  used,  which  cost  $200,000.  We  were  told  there 
are  fifty-seven  fountains  in  the  park  and  three  hundred  and 
sixty  statues.  On  the  staircase  is  seen  marks  of  the  conflict 
which  ensued  when  Marie  Antoinette  tried  to  escape  from  the 
mob  during  the  Reign  of  Terror  and  the  brave  Swiss  guards 
gave  their  lives  to  save  her. 

Everywhere  at  Versailles  one  sees  signs  of  reckless  ex- 
travagance. It  must  have  required  an  army  of  servants  to  look 
after  it  all.  Wage-earners  in  France  get  little  for  their  labor. 
I saw  men  working  on  the  railroads  for  two  francs  a day,  forty 
cents  in  American  money,  and  the  young  women  doing  house- 
work at  seventy-five  centimes  a day,  fifteen  cents  in  American 
money.  Still  nearly  all  manage  to  save  something  and  have  a 
bank  account.  The  French  are  a thrifty  people.  Their  prin- 
cipal saying  is,  “Spend  less  than  you  get.”  The  poorest  buy 
their  government  bonds,  called  rentes.  A French  rente  can  be 
purchased  for  ten  francs,  $2.00  in  American  money.  They 
save  these  rentes  without  even  spending  the  income  therefrom, 
which  is  also  saved,  and  the  coupon  is  placed  in  the  bank  to 
make  up  more  money  at  compound  interest.  If  trouble  comes 
and  they  need  the  money,  the  bank  they  bought  the  bond  from 
will  advance  them  money  on  their  bonds  as  though  it  were  real 
estate.  Have  money  and  you  have  friends  and  power. 

We  left  this  house  where  the  nobility  was  wont  to  hold 
forth  and  walked  down  one  of  the  broad  avenues  to  the  lake 
where  there  was  a boat  race  in  progress,  which  hundreds  had 
gathered  to  witness.  Soon  the  fountains  in  different  parts  of 
the  grounds  began  to  play,  each  sending  up  streams  of  water, 
some  a hundred  feet  high. 

We  left  for  the  train.  People  had  been  coming  out  all  day 
in  great  trainloads  and  nearly  everyone  was  rushing  to  get  back 
to  Paris.  All  wanted  to  get  back  on  the  same  train,  so  we  ran 
nearly  a quarter  of  a mile  to  get  a seat.  We  returned  to  the 
city  in  a train  that  appeared  to  be  a half-mile  in  length.  We 
went  to  the  Exposition  and  found  as  many,  if  not  more  than  at 
Versailles.  I was  told  by  those  who  are  supposed  to  know, 
that  there  were  similar  crowds  at  St.  Cloud,  but  scarcely  anyone 
at  church.  Paris  has  no  time  for  this. 


IN  LONDON  AND  PARIS 


107 


The  grand  churches  of  stone  with  their  many  spires  reach- 
ing up  to  the  clouds  as  it  seems,  with  their  silver  and  gold  altar 
decorations,  their  lovely,  almost  priceless  stained  windows,  their 
many  solid  locked  chests  containing  priceless  relics  of  the  dead 
saints,  are  simply  for  show,  and  when  mass  is  said  the  whole 
affair  seems  like  a play,  something  that  must  be  done  and  gotten 
through  with  in  order  to  attend  to  the  matters  of  greater  im- 
portance. 

On  visiting  the  Notre  Dame  one  is  met  at  the  door  by  a 
beggar  with  outstretched  hand  imploring  help.  As  you  enter, 
a sister  of  charity  is  kneeling  on  a chair  with  a cup  which  is 
thrust  at  you.  A little  further  on  another  has  candles  to  sell, 
so  that  you  can  leave  a light  in  the  church  and  a prayer  for  some 
departed  loved  one  whose  soul  may  thus  be  lighted  toward 
heaven.  After  you  have  run  this  gauntlet  of  money  gatherers 
you  meet  the  guide  who  wants  you  to  pay  him  fifty  centimes 
to  show  you  to  the  crown  of  thorns  said  to  have  been  worn  by 
our  Saviour;  also  a coat  worn  by  St.  Paul,  and  the  dress  in 
which  Marie  Antoinette  was  beheaded.  These  are  all  stored  in 
a strong  box  in  an  alcove  of  the  church.  Should  you  ascend 
the  winding  stair  you  must  pay  another  fifty  centimes.  All  this 
is  in  the  house  of  the  Lord.  Here,  as  everywhere  else  one  turns, 
couples  are  seen  making  love  to  each  other,  paying  no  attention 
to  visitors.  No  crowd  is  too  large  to  prevent  them  from  kiss- 
ing each  other  when  they  feel  so  disposed.  In  the  Exposition 
grounds  they  are  seen  sitting  on  the  benches  in  full  glare  of  the 
electric  lights  with  their  arms  around  each  other  billing  and  coo- 
ing. Should  you  become  disgusted  at  their  lack  of  modesty  and 
try  to  escape  from  witnessing  their  caressing  or  hearing  words 
of  endearment  (in  soft  tones  of  French)  you  will  simply  run 
upon  another  couple  sitting  with  arms  around  each  other  or 
strolling  along  in  front  of  you.  Suddenly  they  stop  with  an 
“Ah,  ma  chere  amie,”  and  then  kiss,  kiss,  kiss.  You  must 
walk  around  if  you  would  not  fall  over  them.  These  French 
people  seem  to  love  above  all  else  and  they  sacrifice  every- 
thing on  this  altar,  thinking  they  do  well  for  “la  grande  pas- 
sion,” as  they  call  it. 

Paris  is  magnificent  in  respect  to  its  arts,  scenery  and 
cleanliness ; but  as  to  its  morals,  I think  it  a Sodom  and  Go- 
morrah. It  seems  to  me  God  will  not  suffer  it  to  continue  in 
this  way.  Of  course  there  are  some  noble  families  with  very 
high  morals.  These  never  allow  their  daughters  to  go  any- 


108 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


where,  even  in  daylight,  without  a chaperone,  and  they  are 
right. 

I am  wondering  why  the  Salvation  Army  has  not  stormed 
this  place  long  ago.  There  are  many  French  people  among  the 
Protestant  ministry.  Here  is  a field  where  there  are  compara- 
tively no  laborers  and  the  harvest  truly  great.  The  Magdaline 
and  all  the  other  churches  dedicated  to  the  services  of  our  Lord 
ought  to  be  filled  to  overflowing  with  those  who  earnestly  seek 
to  worship  him.  I do  not  mean  that  any  particular  denomina- 
tion should  be  used  to  spread  the  gospel,  as  there  is  no  such 
thing  with  God  as  a denomination.  I do  mean  that  more 
earnest  and  sincere  efforts  should  be  put  forth  for  the  enlarge- 
ment of  the  Kingdom  of  God.  We  are  all  laboring  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  His  Kingdom,  all  fighting  for  the  same  cause. 
Verily,  there  is  a heaven,  and  only  those  who  keep  His  com- 
mandments and  are  pure  in  heart  shall  see  His  face  and  be  ad- 
mitted into  the  everlasting  paradise.  I do  not  object  to  the 
many  denominations  ; perhaps  it  is  better  so,  for  those  who 
are  not  satisfied  with  one  have  scores  of  others  from  which 
to  select. 

’Tis  true,  sadly  true,  that  many  of  the  leaders  who  claim 
that  Christ  called  them  to  lead  His  people  and  feed  His  sheep, 
are  men  who  practice  quite  another  life  from  that  which  they 
preach.  Indeed  I have  known,  personally,  two  ministers  of  the 
gospel  who  seduced  young  girls  living  under  the  same  roof  with 
them  and  their  families.  One  of  these  girls  died  in  the  hospital 
while  in  maternity,  the  other  came  out  with  the  living  evidence 
to  care  for.  The  wife  left  this  inhuman  wretch  who  claimed 
to  have  been  a representative  of  Christ,  took  the  girl  back  and 
succeeded  in  getting  a friend  to  adopt  the  child.  Her  eyes  were 
streaming  with  tears  as  she  said  to  me : “I  could  not  see  the 
baby  before  me  as  a reminder  of  my  husband’s  fall,  and  my 
niece’s  shame.  I suffered  enough  and  I am  asking  God  to  help 
me  forget  this  bitter,  shameful  period  of  my  life  and  to  help  me 
mourn  him  as  dead  rather  than  one  who  is  alive.” 

Oh,  the  heartaches  of  this  life  because  of  humanity’s  un- 
faithfulness to  humanity,  and  worse  than  all,  to  God.  My 
brother,  God  wants  you  to  practice  what  you  preach,  to  be  pure 
in  heart  and  to  preach  that  gospel  which  is  pleasing  in  His  sight. 
Oh,  Judas,  thou  art  still  alive  and  for  a moment  of  sensual 
pleasure,  a mess  of  pottage  or  a bag  of  silver  or  gold,  you  will 
crucify  the  Lord  afresh.  Think  of  it,  a Catholic  priest  forget- 
ting that  he  was  a disciple  of  Christ,  a representative  of  God, 


IN  LONDON  AND  PARIS 


109 


leading  a trusting,  innocent  girl  from  the  path  of  virtue  and 
when  she  could  hide  her  shame  no  longer,  took  her  to  a certain 
house  where  she  was  never  seen  to  come  out  again.  A cry  as 
to  her  whereabouts  was  raised.  She  was  traced  to  this  place, 
the  woman  in  charge  confessed,  implicating  the  parish  priest, 
who  heard  and  fled  to  parts  unknown.  The  cellar  of  the  house 
was  searched  and  the  dead  body  of  the  girl  found,  showing 
marks  of  foul  play.  The  woman  was  arrested,  tried,  found 
guilty  and  sentenced  to  life  imprisonment  in  the  state  peniten- 
tiary. The  priest  was  never  captured.  Shame,  oh,  blushing 
shame ! One  a Protestant,  the  other  a Catholic,  claiming  to  be 
sent  from  God  to  represent  Him  in  His  glory.  What  poor  am- 
bassadors of  a righteous  King ! 

The  man  who  feels  himself  called  to  be  in  the  Christian 
army  ought  to  ask  himself  these  questions:  “Can  I overcome 
the  three  great  evils — wine,  women  and  money?”  And  when 
he  has  prayerfully  searched  himself,  if  he  is  not  quite  sure  he 
can,  he  had  better  give  up  and  pursue  some  other  avocation  in 
life,  for  he  may  rest  assured  Delilah  is  not  dead.  She  has  her 
daughters  by  the  scores,  ever  ready  to  deliver  him  to  the  Philis- 
tines who  are  waiting  at  every  church  door.  I have  seen  a De- 
lilah enter  the  home  of  a minister  when  his  wife  was  out  of  the 
city.  The  gossipers  took  notice ; it  was  whispered  from  one  to 
another  that  Delilah  has  money,  spending  it  freely,  buys  the 
minister’s  clothes.  Delilah  made  no  secret  now  of  her  relations 
to  him.  Finally  she  heard  of  this  weak  man  visiting  the  house 
of  some  woman  whom  she  did  not  like.  She  met  her  rival, 
words  followed,  then  a hair-pulling.  Both  were  arrested  and 
their  troubles  aired  in  court.  The  minister  had  to  vacate  his 
charge  and  leave  with  his  heartbroken  wife  for  some  other  place 
to  try  life  over  again.  His  poor  wife  loved  him  and  she  had 
to  stay  with  him,  for  he  was  the  father  of  her  children.  She 
said : “I  wedded  him  for  better  or  for  worse,  until  death  do  us 
part.”  He  demands  of  her  a white  life;  like  Caesar’s  wife,  she 
must  be  above  reproach ; when  indeed  there  should  be  a white 
life  for  both,  bound  in  holy  matrimony  to  work  for  God. 

Why  cannot  the  disciples  of  to-day  follow  the  Lord’s  di- 
rections sent  to  John’s  father,  Zachariah,  as  to  how  he  was  to 
rear  John  in  order  that  he  might  give  God  acceptable  service. 
The  angel  Gabriel  brought  the  same  message  straight  from  God. 
He  said  he  wanted  lips  clean,  free  from  strong  drink,  in  order 
that  he  might  be  great  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord,  and  prepare  the 
people  for  His  coming.  His  coming  to  us  again  is  not  far  off, 


no 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


for  the  Jews  are  going  back  to  Jerusalem  to  welcome  Him. 
What  a surprise  when  He  comes  to  the  drunken,  licentious, 
thieving,  money-hunting,  self-called  disciples  ! What  surprise 
will  be  pictured  on  their  faces  when  he  says : “I  know  you  not, 
ye  workers  of  iniquity,  who  sat  in  the  high  places,  who  loved 
high-sounding  salutations,  ye  who  borrowed  from  the  widow 
her  last  mite,  left  her  in  suffering  and  want,  ye  who  betrayed 
the  innocent,  trusting  young  girls  who  came  to  look  to  you  to 
seek  the  way  of  salvation  and  light,  ye  who  are  fathers  of  ille- 
gitimate children ; ye  who  have  coveted  your  brother’s  wife ; 
ye  who  have  made  my  house  a den  of  thieves ; — away  with  you 
to  a devil’s  hell ; away  with  you,  I know  you  not ; you  have  dis- 
honored me  in  name;  you  have  wrought  great  ills.  Ah,  it  is 
well  my  book,  the  Bible,  was  in  reach  of  the  people,  or  they, 
thinking  you  were  my  true  messenger,  might  have  followed  you. 
Could  you  not  have  stood  by  me  like  Latimer  or  Ridley,  or  the 
weak  woman,  Ann  Askew,  who  were  tortured  at  the  stake  be- 
cause they  would  be  true  to  me  during  the  dawn  of  Protestant- 
ism in  England  where  many  martyrs  fell?  Could  you  not  have 
been  a Livingstone,  a Richard  Allen  and  the  many  black  mar- 
tyrs who  gave  their  lives  in  my  name  during  the  reign  of  slav- 
ery? 

Ye  weak,  vascillating  creature,  ye  have  saved  you  life  by 
catering  to  the  flesh.  You  shall  lose  your  souls  although  you 
have  gained  the  world.  Ye  have  given  my  house  to  the  trick- 
sters, magicians,  soothsayers,  lovers  of  amusement  and  the 
devil  is  happy  when  you  thus  dishonor  me.  Could  you  not 
leave  the  house  dedicated  to  me  free  from  such  things?  Was 
not  the  outside  world  large  enough?  My  work  can  and  must 
be  carried  on  without  the  devil’s  help.  I am  rich  in  houses  and 
lands,  in  silver  and  gold.  The  world  is  mine  and  the  fullness 
thereof.  Hadst  thou  asked  of  me  and  trusted  me  I would  have 
sent  thee  aid  for  all  thy  needs.  (Luke  24:12).  “Consider  the 
ravens,  for  they  neither  sow  nor  reap,  while  neither  have  store- 
houses nor  barns,  and  God  feedeth  them.  How  much  more  are 
ye  better  than  the  fowls?  And  which  of  you  with  taking 
thought  can  add  to  his  stature  one  cubit?  If  ye  then  be  not 
able  to  do  that  thing  which  is  least,  why  take  ye  thought  for  the 
rest  ? Consider  the  lilies  how  they  grow ; they  toil  not  and  yet 
I say  unto  you  that  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed 
like  one  of  these.  If  then  God  so  clothe  the  grass,  which  is  to- 
day in  the  field,  and  to-morrow  is  cast  into  the  oven,  how  much 
more  will  he  clothe  you,  oh,  ye  of  little  faith?”  What!  Would 


IN  LONDON  AND  PARIS 


111 


ye  make  excuses?  I will  not  have  them.  (John  14:  14-15). 
“If  ye  shall  ask  anything  in  my  name,  I will  do  it.”  “If  ye 
love  me,  keep  my  commandments.”  Is  that  not  plain?  Are 
not  those  assurances  enough  to  save  ten  thousand  times  ten 
thousand  worlds  like  ours?  Are  not  His  rich  promises  suffi- 
cient to  save  the  world  ? Ought  we  not  to  trust  Him,  love  Him 
and  keep  His  commandments?  Let  the  pew  follow  the  minis- 
ters as  long  as  they  walk  in  the  righteousness  of  Christ,  and 
when  they  stop  to  cater  to  the  world,  let  us  pass  them  by.  Keep 
the  narrow  path  that  leads  to  Christ. 

“Beloved,  believe  not  every  spirit,  but  try  the  spirits 
whether  they  are  of  God,  because  many  false  prophets  have 
gone  out  into  the  world  (I  John  4:  1).”  Thank  God  for  the 
blessed  Bible.  Read  the  views  of  some  of  the  ablest  men  on 
that  matchless  book  that  has  stood  the  test  of  ages.  It  makes 
good  reading  in  this  day  of  many  false  prophets.  “In  this 
book.”  said  Ewald  to  Dean  Stanley,  “is  all  the  wisdom  of  the 
world."  “That  book,”  said  Andrew  Jackson,  as  he  lay  on  his 
deathbed,  “is  the  rock  on  which  our  Republic  rests.”  “Bring 
me  the  Book”  said  Walter  Scott  when  about  to  die.  “What 
book?"  asked  Lockhart.  “The  Book,  the  Bible,  there  is  only 
one.”  Said  the  great  chemist  Farraday:  “Why  will  people  go 
astray  when  they  have  this  blessed  book  to  guide  them?”  “If 
we  be  ignorant,”  say  the  translators  of  1611,  “the  scriptures 
will  instruct  us:  if  out  of  the  way,  they  will  bring  us  home;  if 
out  of  order,  they  will  reform  us.  If  in  heaviness  they  will 
comfort  us:  if  dull,  quicken  us;  if  cold,  inflame  us.”  Heine, 
the  infidel,  said : “What  a book ! Vast  and  wide  as  the  world 
rooted  in  the  abysses  of  creation,  towering  up  behind  the  blue 
secrets  of  heaven.  Sunrise  and  sunset,  promise  and  fulfill- 
ment. birth  and  death,  the  whole  drama  of  humanity,  all  in 
this  book.” 

The  way  is  so  plain  that  none  need  err.  Thank  God  for 
the  ministers  who  are  striving  to  walk  in  His  likeness  and  keep 
His  commandments.  Thank  God  for  the  marked  improve- 
ments along  all  lines.  Indeed,  our  race  more  than  any  other, 
perhaps,  needs  a cleaner  ministry,  a purer  ministry.  If  we 
would  better  the  moral  condition  of  our  people  we  must  appeal 
to  the  ministry  to  forward,  march  and  charge  with  all  their 
might. 

At  last  I am  to  leave  Paris  and  go  back  to  London.  I 
have  seen  the  principal  sights  and  am  glad  to  get  back  where 
one  cannot  witness  such  display  of  immorality.  The  English 


112 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


Channel,  I am  told,  is  unusually  rough ; nearly  all  were  seasick 
on  board.  I was  truly  glad  when  I reached  shore  and  bade 
farewell  to  the  steamer  “Rouen,”  and  took  the  train  at  New 
Haven  for  Clapham  Junction,  changed  cars  there  for  Streatham 
Hill,  London.  At  last  I was  in  my  room,  telling  Misses  Firth 
and  Longfield  my  experience  during  my  visit  to  France. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

SIGHTSEEING  IN  LONDON. 

In  my  absence  the  Misses  Firth  and  Lonfield  had  been 
planning  trips  for  me.  I was  to  go  to  Westminster  Abbey.  In 
the  morning  we  started:  fifty-five  minutes’  ride  on  the  train, 
then  a walk  over  Westminster  bridge  which  spans  the  muddy 
River  Thames,  and  we  reached  the  House  of  Parliament.  We 
were  admitted  and  as  we  climbed  the  steps  the  guard  eyed  my 
silk  handbag  suspiciously.  Finally  he  approached  and  asked 
me  to  open  it.  I inquired  somewhat  indignantly,  “For  what?” 
He  said  he  wanted  to  look  into  it.  My  friend  laughed  at  me, 
saying  that  it  was  the  custom.  I answered:  “If  they  have  lost 
anything  I have  not  found  it.”  Anyway,  I opened  the  bag.  He 
peeped  in  and  seeming  to  be  satisfied  he  passed  us  in.  My 
friend  explained  that  the  reason  for  this  was  that  a dynamite 
fiend  once  entered  with  his  machine  without  anyone’s  knowl- 
edge. It  exploded  and  demolished  a magnificent  window  which 
cost  thousands  of  dollars. 

We  were  in  the  robing  rooms,  then  passed  into  the  corri- 
dors that  led  to  the  House  of  Commons  and  the  House  of 
Lords. 

What  lovely  pictures  line  the  walls,  especially  the  larger 
ones  of  the  covenanters ! How  beautiful  is  the  light  shining 
upon  the  faces  of  the  devout  women  as  they  kneel  on  the  shore 
watching  the  departing  boats  bound  for  the  new  world,  Am- 
erica ! After  viewing  the  pictures  of  England’s  dead  kings  and 
queens  we  descended  the  steps  to  see  Westminster  Abbey,  the 
great  historic  structure  which  the  world  delights  to  visit  and 
to  write  of. 

We  crossed  the  street  and  found  our  way  with  other  vis- 
itors to  the  center  of  the  sacred  edifice,  then  to  the  poet’s  cor- 
ner where  nearly  every  nationality  is  represented.  To  reach 
here  we  had  walked  over  the  resting  place  of  Gladstone,  Eng- 
land’s Grand  Old  Man,  whose  wife  is  lying  by  his  side  under 
the  floor  of  the  Abbey.  The  tombs  of  the  kings  and  nobility  could 


SIGHTSEEING  IN  LONDON 


113 


be  seen,  the  guide  charging  sixpence  to  show  us  through  this 
part  of  the  Abbey.  We  paused  a while  at  each  tomb  to  find 
out  the  name  of  the  silent  occupant,  the  points  of  interest  or 
what  important  part  each  played  in  the  world’s  drama. 
Prominent  among  them  are  the  tombs  of  Mary  Queen  of 
Scots,  and  her  mother-in-law.  Not  far  away  is  what  is  left 
of  the  cruel  Richard  III ; and  a few  steps  away  the  tomb  of 
the  two  little  princes  he  murdered  in  the  tower.  All  are  si- 
lently asleep  here  in  the  famous  old  Abbey,  together  with  the 
brave  general  who  fought  in  war  and  won  fame  and  lands 
for  England. 

We  next  saw  the  coronation  chair.  Then  we  went  out  to 
another  part  of  the  Abbey  where  we  paused  before  the  large 
statue  of  the  great  anti-slavery  agitator,  William  Wilberforce, 
who  fought  so  hard  in  the  House  of  Commons  the  battle  for 
freedom  and  by  a life  of  persistent  struggle  and  untiring  perse- 
verance succeeded  in  stopping  the  infamous  traffic  in  human 
flesh  in  the  British  Isles.  'Tis  true  he  was  vilified  and  abused 
as  are  many  individuals  who  champion  a righteous  cause,  yet 
he  dared  to  do  what  he  felt  God  wanted  him  to  do.  Though 
his  friends  thought  to  dissuade  him  from  his  purpose  his 
mind  was  firmly  made  up  to  stand,  even  alone.  This  conclu- 
sion he  reached  while  conversing  with  friends  beneath  what 
is  known  as  “Emancipation  Oak”  in  a little  village  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  city  of  London,  which  still  reaches  out  its 
leafy  boughs  to  shade  the  weary  pedestrian  who  happens  to 
pass  that  way. 

We  lingered  long,  gazing  at  the  statue  of  this  lion-hearted 
man.  I felt  I owed  it  more  than  a passing  glance,  as  I bowed 
my  head  in  reverence  to  the  likeness  in  stone  and  read  the  in- 
scription sacred  to  his  memory.  Having  thanked  God  for  this 
noble  and  extraordinary  character,  I passed  on  to  another  great 
foe  of  the  slave  trade,  David  Livingstone,  who  fell  asleep  in 
Jesus  May  i,  1873,  in  the  sultry  wilds  of  Africa,  whither  he 
had  gone  to  lead  into  the  fold  of  Christ  those  sheep  which 
Christ  speaks  of  in  John  x:  16:  “.And  other  sheep  I have  which 
are  not  of  this  fold ; them  also  I must  bring.  And  they  shall 
hear  my  voice  and  there  shall  be  one  fold  and  one  shepherd.” 
There  he  lies  beneath  the  stone  flooring  with  the  above  inscrip- 
tion written  on  the  marble  slab  which  covers  his  sacred  dust — 
no,  not  all  of  it,  for  his  heart  lies  buried  in  Africa.  There  are 
few  Livingstones  to-day.  What  a wonderful  character ! How 


114 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


worthy  of  emulation  his  example ! “Though  he  is  dead,  still 
shall  he  live.”  What  does  the  Master  say  about  it?  “Blessed 
are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord  for  they  rest  from  their  labor 
and  their  works  do  follow  them.”  This  is  the  kind  of  mission- 
aries God  wants  us  to  be,  to  deny  ourselves,  to  make  sacrifices 
to  follow  after  Him. 

The  first  question  most  of  our  missionary  ministers  of  to- 
day ask  is:  “How  much  money  is  there  in  it?”  Not  “How 
many  souls  can  I win  for  Christ?”  I feel  that  if  David  Living- 
stone gets  a jewel  for  every  soul  he  has  led  to  Christ  he  will  not 
be  able  to  wear  them.  He  was  a true  disciple  of  Christ;  there 
are  none  lying  in  the  Abbey  greater  than  he  in  the 
sight  of  God,  awaitng  the  resurrection  morn.  Soon  we  were 
walking  through  the  long  hall-like  places  where  so  many  monks 
are  buried,  until  we  reached  the  street  again,  carrying  with  us 
life-long  impressions  of  England’s  illustrious  dead  who  are 
patiently  awaiting  in  the  sacred  shadows  of  Westminster  Abbey 
the  coming  of  the  King  of  kings,  and  Lord  of  lords. 

After  a good  night’s  rest  we  boarded  the  train  the  next 
morning  for  the  home  of  Shakespeare  at  Stratford-on-the- 
Avon.  This,  too,  is  a treat  to  all  lovers  of  scenery,  like  Ayr, 
the  home  of  Burns.  There  has  been  little  change  in  its  style  of 
architecture  but  it  retains  its  old-time  quaintness.  I was  pleased 
when  I stood  in  the  room  where  the  great  writer  first  saw  the 
light  of  day.  I could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  scribble  my 
name  on  the  low  ceiling.  We  left  here  for  the  banks  of  the 
Avon  river  which  flows  by  the  church  where  Shakespeare  and 
his  wife  lie  sleeping  under  the  altar.  We  reached  the  railing 
and  read  on  the  slab  which  covers  their  last  resting  place: 
“Blest  be  he  who  does  not  dig  the  dust  from  round  these  stones. 
But  cursed  be  he  who  moves  my  bones.”  Having  seen  many 
relics  we  walked  across  the  meadow-like  field  to  the  cottage  of 
Anne  Hathaway  Shakespeare,  whom  Shakespeare  said  “hath  a 
way  of  her  own.” 

On  returning  to  my  room  in  London  I received  a message 
from  Mr.  Bigge,  Queen  Victoria’s  private  secretary,  saying  I 
must  call  at  Windsor  Castle  next  morning.  I was  there  on 
time  and  was  received  by  her  Majesty  in  an  informal  way,  the 
Oueen  having  remembered  me  through  the  following  corre- 
spondence (taken  from  the  April  4th,  1900,  issue  of  the  New 
Orleans  “Picayune”)  : 


SIGHTSEEING  IN  LONDON 


115 


Colored  Women  Send  Resolutions  of  Praise  to  Queen 
Victoria. 

At  a special  meeting  last  night  of  the  Willard  Women’s 
Christian  Temperance  Union  of  Louisiana,  Mrs.  Frances  A. 
Joseph  presiding,  the  following  resolution  was  adopted : 

“ Resolved , That  we,  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  of  the  State  of  Lou- 
isiana, do  tender  to  her  majesty,  Queen  Victoria,  our  heartfelt 
sympathy  and  admiration  for  her  noble  and  humane  stand  in 
demanding  equal  rights  for  humanity  in  the  Transvaal.  Be  it 
further 

Resolved.  That  we,  in  behalf  of  thousands  of  Negro  moth- 
ers in  this  state,  offer  our  prayers  to  God,  our  All-wise  Father, 
to  help  her  obtain  a speedy  victory  over  a selfish,  ungrateful 
people.” 

This  resolution  was  signed  by  Mrs.  Frances  A.  Joseph, 
state  president,  and  Miss  M.  Wicker,  state  secretary,  and  will 
be  forwarded  to  Queen  Victoria.” 

Queen  Victoria  was  a stout  and  aged  woman.  She  greeted 
me  with  a smile  as  I bowed  before  her.  I presented  my  letter 
of  introduction  from  her  consul  at  New  Orleans.  It  was 
read  and  she  asked  if  she  could  do  anything  for  me.  I request- 
ed permission  to  visit  the  long  unused  underground  prisons  of 
England  under  the  Tower.  She  smilingly  gave  consent,  saying 
on  the  morrow  I should  have  a guard  to  take  me  to  the  desired 
place.  I thanked  her  and  bade  her  good-bye.  In  the  morning 
at  nine  o’clock  the  guard  arrived  with  my  pass.  My  hostess 
and  I were  ready.  He  went  with  us  to  the  Tower  where  the 
keeper  of  the  keys  stood  waiting  for  us.  The  great  iron  doors 
were  opened  and  we  descended  the  iron  steps  so  far  that  it 
seemed  we  should  never  get  to  the  bottom.  At  last  our  feet 
touched  the  stone  floor.  The  guard  had  a lantern  which  very 
poorly  lighted  up  that  great  long  hall.  We  stopped  at  the  end 
of  the  hall  and  he  showed  us  the  great  iron  gates  that  opened 
on  the  river  Thames  to  receive  prisoners,  the  peasant  and  the 
nobleman.  We  turned  down  another  dark  hall  where  the 
guard  pointed  to  the  cell  which  had  been  used  by  some  of  the 
nobility  of  England.  At  last  we  came  to  the  cell  called  “Little 
Ease,”  where  the  immortal  Latimer  and  Ridley  spent  their  last 
days,  trusting  and  praising  God.  This  cell  is  only  five  feet 
square,  and  when  we  remember  that  one  of  these  men  was  tall- 
er by  five  inches  we  realize  there  was  indeed  little  comfort  for 
him  during  his  six  months’  incarceration.  Still,  though 


116 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


liberty  was  offered  them  every  day  when  the  jailer 
brought  them  their  scanty  fare  of  bread  and  water,  they  re- 
fused to  pay  the  price  named  for  it,  the  telling  where  the  manu- 
script and  the  type  from  which  the  Bible  was  printed,  was  hid- 
den. While  there  they  scratched  on  the  walls  with  their  fin- 
gers: “We  glorify  God  with  our  sufferings.  He  is  with  us 
through  it  all.”  I imagine  I can  see  them  on  that  last  morning 
when  they  were  led  out  into  daylight  and  were  blinded  by  the 
light ; when  the  march  was  taken  up  to  the  market-place,  the 
cart  going  on  before  them  carrying  the  faggots  that  were  to 
form  their  funeral  pyre.  Latimer  said  to  Ridley,  “Cheer  up, 
old  fellow ; we  are  going  to  make  a light  to-day  with  our  bodies 
that  will  shine  down  the  ages  of  time,  and  show  men  the  way 
to  God.”  They  marched  on  to  the  stake,  the  crowd  following. 
The  cruel  mandate  of  the  king  is  to  be  obeyed.  Protestantism 
must  be  wiped  out.  Rome  must  rule.  These  men  had  bought 
the  necessary  machinery  and  printed  the  Bible  in  England. 
They  knew  it  was  against  the  law.  They  were  hunted  and  tak- 
ing ship  with  their  manuscript  and  machinery,  left  for  France, 
where  for  months  they  dared  print  the  Bible.  Then  filling  a 
boat  they  came  back  to  England,  distributed  the  word  of  God, 
were  caught  after  a long  search  by  the  King’s  soldiers,  and  after 
imprisonment  for  six  months  were  brought  to  account.  On 
they  went  to  the  stake  smiling;  brave  soldiers  for  Christ  (step- 
ping up  to  the  iron  stake  to  which  they  were  chained),  with 
their  hands  behind  them.  The  faggots  which  were  piled  high 
were  soon  lighted.  The  flames  leaped  up  hungrily,  licking  their 
bodies  as  they  soared.  Yet  they  sang,  their  faces  shining  as 
they  looked  heavenward.  They  died  the  death  of  martyrs  that 
the  word  of  God  might  be  handed  down  to  new-born  genera- 
tions. All  honor  to  these  saints ! 

While  many  of  the  prisons  I visited  were  gloomy,  damp 
and  filthy  with  vermin,  I feel  that  if  these  men  endured  so  much 
to  bring  about  reforms  in  their  day,  might  I not  bear  some  little 
burdens  for  my  Lord,  and  work  that  men  may  know  more  of 
Him  through  me,  His  servant? 

This  brought  our  sightseeing  across  the  waters  to  a close. 
My  date  had  arrived  and  after  having  spent  nearly  five  months 
in  Europe,  I prepared  to  sail  for  America.  I was  sorry  to  re- 
turn so  soon  after  having  made  so  many  warm  friends  to  whom 
I was  loath  to  say  good-bye,  but  I must  return  to  my  work 
among  the  friendless  ones  in  New  Orleans;  hence  I bade  fare- 
well to  those  pleasant  scenes  and  loving  friends. 


* 


MISS  EMMA  M.  FREUSCH. 
Of  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 


117 


CHAPTER  XV. 

HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

On  the  morning  of  September  18th  my  friends,  Miss  Long- 
field  and  Miss  Firth,  accompanied  me  to  the  train  which  was 
bound  for  Liverpool,  where  I was  to  take  passage  on  the 
steamer  “Rhynland”  on  the  following  day  for  America. 

After  a long,  dreary,  foggy  voyage  of  nearly  thirteen  days 
we  reached  Philadelphia.  I spent  a few  days  in  that  city 
visiting  prisons  and  giving  a few  lectures,  trying  to  make 
friends  for  the  work  to  which  I had  given  much  labor,  the 
building  of  the  Colored  Industrial  Home  and  School  for  the 
colored  boys  and  girls  of  Louisiana. 

I was  invited  to  Jersey  City,  N.  J.,  by  Bishop  and  Mrs.  A. 
Walters,  which  invitation  I gratefully  accepted.  I found  in 
this  typical  Christian  home  the  latch-string  hanging  on  the  out- 
side. bidding  welcome  to  every  earnest  Christian  worker.  In- 
deed, I was  greatly  encouraged  by  their  kind  advice  and  earnest 
prayers. 

Leaving  these  warm-hearted  Christians,  I went  to  Brook- 
lyn, N.  Y.,  where  I was  the  guest  of  Rev.  and  Mrs.  H.  C.  C. 
Astwood,  former  U.  S.  Minister  to  San  Domingo.  These  kind 
friends  also  made  it  most  comfortable  and  pleasant  for  me, 
even  in  making  engagements  and  arranging  for  my  lectures.  It 
was  while  stopping  here  that  I had  the  pleasure  of  forming  the 
acquaintance  of  that  most  kind,  loving  and  philanthropic  lady, 
Miss  Emma  M.  Treusch.  My  meeting  this  most  estimable  lady 
reminded  me  of  the  old,  but  true  adage,  “The  darkest  hour  is 
always  just  before  the  dawn  of  day.”  It  was  during  one  of 
these  moments  when  I felt  that  success  was  so  far  away,  if 
there  was  ever  to  be  any  success  at  all,  that  I met  Miss  Treusch. 
She  had  read  of  my  work  in  the  papers  and  called  to  see  me  to 
offer  whatever  help  she  could  and  in  whatever  way.  After  ex- 
plaining all  to  her,  she  said  to  me : “Do  not  be  discouraged,  for 
Jesus  is  your  friend,  and  He  will  help  you  to  succeed.”  Hav- 
ing given  me  much  encouragement  and  strengthened  my  faith 
in  Him.  she  said,  “Come,  let  us  pray.”  We  knelt,  and  she 
prayed  one  of  those  touching,  soul-reviving  prayers  that  lifts  a 
Christian  away  up  and  makes  him  know  that  the  Redeemer 
does  live,  for  He  lives  in  your  soul.  I shall  never  forget  how 
earnestly  she  exhorted  me  to  be  of  good  cheer  and  while  I never 
for  a moment  felt  like  giving  up  the  battle  for  fallen  and  suffer- 
ing humanity,  I confess  I needed  just  such  words  of  comfort 


118 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


and  endearment  at  that  time.  Being  interested  in  my  work, 
she  has  not  failed  to  give  as  liberally  as  it  was  possible  for  her 
to  give,  and  to  communicate  with  me  from  time  to  time  inquir- 
ing about  my  health  and  the  progress  of  the  work.  May  His 
tender  blessings  ever  attend  her ! 

Yes,  I know  that  Jesus  is  my  friend  and  I am  only  too 
willing  to  trust  him.  These  lines  come  to  me  written  by  my 
friend,  Miss  Kathie  Grombeck  of  Glasgow,  Scotland: 

“I  cannot  always  see  the  way  that  leads 
To  heights  above ; 

I sometimes  quite  forget,  He  leads  me  on 
With  hands  of  Love. 

But  yet  I know  the  path  must  lead  me  to 
Immanuel’s  Land. 

And  when  I reach  life’s  summit  I shall  know 
And  understand. 

I cannot  always  face  the  onward  course 
My  ship  must  take, 

But  looking  backward  I behold  afar 
Its  shining  wake. 

Illumined  with  God’s  light  of  Love,  and  as 
I onward  go, 

In  perfect  trust,  that  He  who  holds  the  helm 
The  course  must  know. 

I cannot  always  see  the  plan  on  which 
He  builds  my  life, 

For  oft  the  sound  of  hammers,  blow  on  blow, 

The  noise  of  strife, 

Confuse  me,  till  I quite  forget  He  knows 
And  oversees ; 

And  that  in  each  detail  with  this  good  plan 
My  life  agrees. 

I cannot  always  know  and  understand 
The  Master’s  rule ; 

I cannot  always  do  the  task  He  gives 
In  life’s  hard  school. 

But  I am  learning,  with  His  help,  to  solve 
Them  one  by  one, 

And  when  I cannot  understand,  to  say, 

“Thy  will  be  done.” 


HOME  AT  WORK  AGAIN 


119 


Through  invitation,  I made  a few  visits  to  the  home  of 
Bishop  and  Mrs.  William  B.  Derrick,  at  Flushing,  N.  Y.,  where 
I was  nicely  entertained  in  their  palatial  residence,  and  felt 
much  encouraged  by  their  prayers  and  interest  in  my  work  and 
in  my  success. 

From  there  I went  to  Washington,  D.  C.,  to  attend  the 
National  Convention  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.,  which  convened  No- 
vember 30  to  December  7.  The  convention  was  most  help- 
ful and  inspiring.  Many  receptions  were  tendered  the  dele- 
gates, among  which  was  one  given  by  President  and  Mrs.  Wil- 
liam McKinley  in  the  executive  mansion,  where  were  also  the 
wives  of  some  of  the  members  of  the  President’s  cabinet.  The 
delegates  were  ushered  in  by  twos  and  introduced  to  the  Presi- 
dent and  Mrs.  McKinley  by  Secretary  Long.  Mrs.  McKinley, 
although  ill  and  unable  to  stand,  looked  well,  more  especially 
when  she  smiled.  Her  pleasant,  angelic-like  countenance,  with 
a soft  sweet  voice,  did  not  have  the  tendency  to  induce  one  to 
believe  her  an  invalid.  Her  pretty  blue  velvet  dress  and  the 
magnificent  chair  upholstered  in  gold,  added  considerably  to 
the  already  beautiful  Mrs.  McKinley. 

After  the  session  of  the  National  Convention,  which  was 
quite  interesting  as  well  as  instructive,  I delivered  a few  lec- 
tures in  some  of  the  churches  there,  then  went  back  to  Phila- 
delphia, thence  to  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  to  fill  some  previous  en- 
gagements. This  being  accomplished,  I bade  good-bye  to  the 
many  new,  kind  friends  and  turned  homeward  to  spend  the 
merry  Christmas  with  loved  ones,  from  whom  I had  been  ab- 
sent for  six  months. 

At  11  o’clock,  on  the  morning  of  December  23rd,  our  car 
rolled  into  the  depot,  where  I was  met  by  my  three  children, 
Eva,  Eugene  and  Eddie. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

HOME  AT  WORK  AGAIN. 

Before  I had  time  to  get  out  into  the  streets  I was  informed 
by  Rev.  A.  M.  Green  that  I had  not  arrived  at  New  Orleans  as 
yet.  When  I inquired  the  reason  why,  I was  told  that  there 
would  be  a public  reception  tendered  me  and  that  I would  be 
expected  to  give  an  account  of  myself  and  how  the  world  re- 
ceived me  abroad.  I found  that  a program  was  arranged 
for  the  occasion. 

I repaired  to  the  prison  the  next  morning  to  find  some  of 


120 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


the  old  familiar  faces  and  many  new  ones,  increasing  my  work 
tenfold.  I was  appealed  to  by  a mother  to  see  the  judge  and  ask 
him  to  give  her  daughter  time  in  the  Parish  prison  instead  ot 
sending  her  to  the  state’s  prison.  The  poor  mother  worked  hard 
at  washing  and  ironing  to  educate  this  daughter  and  to  dress 
her  in  the  latest  styles,  creating  in  her  a love  for  fine  clothes, 
making  a goddess  of  her  baby.  The  girl  had  not  been  taught  to 
work  but  had  spent  most  of  her  time  in  school ; and  not  being 
able  to  complete  her  education  to  the  extent  that  would  enable 
her  to  make  a living  and  yet  having  developed  an  insatiable 
love  for  gaiety  and  desire  for  fine  clothes,  in  a weak  moment 
she  stole  in  order  to  deck  the  body  she  so  much  worshipped. 
She  was  detected,  arrested  and  placed  in  prison,  tried  by  a jur\ , 
found  guilty  and  the  judge  was  to  sentence  her,  the  mother 
only  child.  I agreed  to  help  her  if  she  would  promise  me  that 
this  would  be  her  last  theft.  She  willingly  signed  my  pledge, 
and  I saw  the  judge,  who  agreed  to  make  the  sentence  light. 

The  curse  of  dress  is  on  some  women  of  all  races  and  is 
doing  more  to  corrupt  them  and  undermine  society  than  any 
other  evil.  Too  many  are  weak  when  confronted  by  this  mon- 
ster, fine  dress.  Many  foolish  girls  are  willing  to  sacrifice 
home,  loved  ones,  honor  and  all  that  women  should  hold  dear, 
for  a string  of  pretty  beads,  a diamond  ring  or  a silk  dress,  and 
realize  when  it  is  all  too  late  that  they  have  sold  the  priceless 
jewel  of  virtue  for  a mess  of  pottage,  which  is  bitter  shame  and 
remorse.  In  the  end  they  become  creatures  that  are  shunned 
by  respectable  people,  lost  to  society  and  very  often  to  God. 
I have  seen  a white  woman,  beautiful  of  face  and  figure,  the 
beloved  wife  of  a poor  man,  standing  before  the  judge,  hear- 
ing his  words:  “I  sentence  you  to  six  months  in  the  Parish 
prison  for  petty  larceny.”  She  had  been  tried  and  found 
guilty  of  shoplifting.  She  had  stolen  over  $50.00  worth  of 
laces  from  one  of  our  largest  dry  goods  stores  in  the  city 
of  New  Orleans.  We  can  but  draw  the  mantle  of  pity  over 
these  weak  ones ; they  were  weak,  the  temptation  was 
strong.  God  has  given  a double  portion  of  his  blessing  to 
those  who  will  not  yield  to  temptation  and  they  should 
thank  Him  for  this  will-power  over  temptation  that  makes 
them  stand  ready  in  the  hour  of  trial  and  look  away  to  God 
from  whence  their  strength  cometh. 

One  morning  as  I was  waiting  in  the  clerk’s  office  to  see 
the  judge  of  the  Second  City  Criminal  Court  I heard  a voice 


HOME  AT  WORK  AGAIN 


121 


exclaim  in  a loud,  painful  tone,  “She  is  my  wife.  We  have 
lived  together  for  thirty-eight  years ; the  law  cannot  estrange 
us.”  I rose  from  my  seat  and  looked  in  the  courtroom  and  saw 
a white  man  'standing  before  the  bar  accused  of  violating  the 
miscegenation  law.  The  prisoner  pleaded  not  guilty,  and  was 
released  together  with  his  colored  wife  whose  face  was  wet 
with  tears.  Their  bonds  were  fixed  at  $250  each.  They  had 
grown  children  in  the  community  who  could  not  be  recognized 
as  being  colored.  These  people  lived  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city 
where  a large  number  of  truck  farmers  and  fishermen  lived, 
having  no  caste.  White  men  and  colored  women  and  white 
women  and  colored  men  intermarried  and  reared  large 
families.  In  most  cases  the  parties  had  been  married  for 
years  before  the  miscegenation  law  was  made.  In  many  of 
these  cases  the  white  men  will  go  on  the  witness  stand,  holding 
the  Bible  in  their  hand,  and  swear  they  are  colored  in  order  to 
escape  suffering  and  prosecution,  thereby  frustrating  the  laws 
of  Louisiana,  which  would  mean  separation  from  their  wives 
and  families.  In  one  case  a white  father  had  his  son  arrested 
for  marrying  a woman  who  was  known  to  have  colored  blood 
in  her  veins.  When  he  made  the  charge  the  son  had  been  mar- 
ried three  years  and  two  children  had  been  born  to  the  cou- 
ple. One,  a tot  of  two  years,  played  on  the  courtroom  floor, 
and  the  other,  a baby  of  six  months,  slept  in  its  mother’s 
arms  as  the  father  sat  near  her  lovingly  stroking  its  little 
feet.  The  babies  were  all  unmindful  of  the  heartache  and 
anguish  of  the  parents  while  the  law  was  being  invoked  to 
separate  them  forever.  This  was  the  third  time  the  aged 
father  had  had  his  son  before  the  court  trying  to  have  the 
law  separate  him  from  his  family. 

On  November  4,  1909,  a pretty  mulatto  girl  was  brought 
before  the  juvenile  court  for  being  in  an  immoral  house,  the 
keeper  of  same  harboring  her  for  that  purpose.  Her  old  grand- 
mother’s head  was  bowed  in  shame  as  she  related  the  story  of 
the  girl’s  fall.  The  girl’s  mother,  who  sat  near  with  face  suf- 
fused with  tears,  when  asked  why  the  girl  was  living  with  the 
grandmother  instead  of  living  with  her,  explained  that  she  had 
married  again.  Upon  further  questioning  the  fact  was  estab- 
lished that  her  husband  was  a white  man,  and  the  district  attor- 
ney had  filed  charges  against  them  accusing  them  of  living  in 
concubinage,  as  they  had  married  since  the  passage  of  the  law 
preventing  marriages  between  the  negro  race  and  the  white 


122 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


race.  The  husband  had  been  arrested  and  brought  to  court 
and  pleaded  not  guilty ; he  furnished  bond  and  was  released, 
pending  trial.  I knew  him  personally  and  a more  gentlemanly, 
kind-hearted  man  never  lived ; he  was  the  nephew  of  a former 
German  chancellor.  Two  days  after  this  man’s  arraignment  I 
was  astounded  and  horrified  to  read  in  an  evening  paper  that  he 
had  bade  good-bye  to  his  wife  and  babies,  looked  for  the  last 
time  on  their  beautiful  little  home,  wended  his  way  to  the  woods 
in  a lonely  spot  and  had  blown  out  his  brains,  leaving  a note  of 
loving  farewell  to  his  wife,  asking  those  who  found  the  body  to 
send  it  to  her.  Two  white  boys  discovered  his  body  and  robbed 
it  of  the  little  valuables  and  ran  off.  A colored  woman  passing 
by  saw  the  body  and  reported  it  to  the  police.  It  was  taken 
home  to  the  heart-broken  wife.  Let  us  draw  the  veil  of  pity 
before  this  scene  and  stop  to  learn  when  this  law  was  made  and 
by  whom. 

At  the  session  of  the  legislature  in  1892  a bill  was  intro- 
duced in  the  House  of  Representatives  on  June  1st,  with  the 
following  title : “An  act  to  prohibit  the  intermarriage  of  the 
white  and  colored  races  in  Louisiana.”  Penalties  for  the  vio- 
lation of  same  were  at  the  same  time  provided.  The  bill  be- 
came house  bill  No.  136,  was  reported  favorably  by  the  judi- 
ciary committee  on  June  21st,  defining  a colored  person  to  be 
one  having  one  thirty-second  or  more  of  Negro  blood  in  his 
veins.  The  bill  was  received  in  the  Senate  on  June  28th,  re- 
ferred to  the  judiciary  committee  July  7th,  reported  without 
action  and  died  with  the  adjournment  of  the  legislature.  On 
May  30th,  1894,  another  bill  was  introduced  in  the  House  of 
Representatives,  No.  250,  and  was  referred  to  the  judiciary 
committee  on  May  31st.  This  body  reported  the  bill  favorably 
on  June  5th.  After  several  amendments  it  was  finally  adopted 
on  June  8th.  The  bill  passed  the  Senate  on  June  26th,  was 
approved  by  the  governor  of  the  State  of  Louisiana,  July  5th. 
In  eighteen  states  of  the  Union  the  mixture  or  intermarriage 
of  the  white  and  Negro  is  not  only  not  valid  but  punishable 
as  a crime. 

The  judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  State  of  Penn- 
sylvania used  the  following  language:  “Why  our  Creator 
made  one  man  white  and  the  other  black  we  know  not,  but 
the  fact  is  apparent  and  the  races  are  distinct,  each  pro- 
ducing its  kind  and  following  the  peculiar  laws  of  its  con- 
stitution, conceding  equality  with  natures  as  perfect  and 


HOME  AT  WORK  AGAIN 


123 


rights  as  sacred,  yet  God  has  made  them  dissimilar.  The 
natural  law  which  forbids  their  intermarriage  and  that 
amalgamation  which  leads  to  a corruption  of  the  races  is  as 
clearly  defined  as  that  which  imparted  to  them  different 
natures.” 

This  judge  is  all  right;  the  only  fault  I have  to  find 
is  that  these  laws  ought  to  have  been  made  by  the  Caucasian 
when  the  poor  Negro,  the  scapegoat  of  American  civiliza- 
tion, was  lassoed,  chained  on  the  Dutch  ship  and  brought 
to  America.  The  Caucasian  has  lived  to  .rue  the  day  and 
some  of  his  sons  and  daughters  have  paid  for  it  in  blood 
and  tears,  and  the  end  is  not  yet. 

How  much  more  honorable  it  would  have  been  had 
they  treated  the  Africans  as  they  do  the  other  dark  races 
who  are  receiving  Christian  help.  Each  year  dozens  of 
missionaries  of  the  Caucasian  race  are  sent  to  China,  Japan 
and  other  countries  to  teach  them  the  way  to  Christian 
civilization.  America  owes  a debt  to  Africa  hard  to  settle. 

A Chinaman,  on  being  asked  by  an  American  mis- 
sionary to  accept  his  Christian  teaching  and  follow  Christ, 
replied:  “Me  no  like  Melican  man  Christ;  he  let  you  treat 
poor  Indian  and  African  velly  mean.”  The  Negro  has  lost 
much  by  this  intermingling  of  blood.  He  has  contracted  the 
white  man’s  diseases  that  were  formerly  confined  to  the 
Caucasian  race.  While  it  may  seem  strange  that  the  Negro 
has  become  peculiarly  susceptible  to  these  and  weakens 
quickly,  sowing  the  seeds  indiscriminately  among  those  of 
his  race  to  be  reaped  by  the  coming  generations,  the  whole 
matter  of  race  intermingling  is  deplorable.  Yet  I can  see 
no  way  of  preventing  it,  as  the  law  is  not  respected  by 
some  of  the  men  of  the  race  who  have  helped  to  make  it. 

For  instance,  November  n,  1910,  a wealthy  white 
planter  living  in  Mississippi  hired  a colored  girl  as  a serv- 
ant in  his  home.  He  fell  in  love  with  the  pretty  mulatto 
servant  and  persuaded  her  to  become  his  mistress.  The  girl’s 
mother  became  angry  and  went  to  get  her  daughter,  taking 
with  her  an  older  daughter.  She  was  met  on  the  porch  of  the 
planter’s  home.  He  shot  her  and  her  daughter  and  they  both 
fell  dead  at  his  feet.  The  planter’s  father  helped  this  son  in 
the  fiendish  act,  while  the  girl  who  was  his  mistress  escaped 
to  the  town  and  reported  the  deed  to  the  officials.  The 
father  and  son  were  arrested,  and,  though  one  year  has 


124 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


elapsed,  I have  not  as  yet  heard  of  a trial.  Deeds  of  this 
kind  will  continue  until  the  white  woman  rises  in  her  might 
and.  demands  a higher  standard  of  morals  from  the  men  of 
her  race,  as  they  in  turn  demand  of  her. 

During  my  sojourn  of  nearly  five  months  in  Europe  I 
never  heard  of  a lynching  or  burning  at  the  stake,  and  I be- 
lieve this  was  due  to  the  rigid  enforcement  of  law;  for  when 
a crime  is  committed  an  investigation  is  made  as  soon  as 
possible  and  the  accused  brought  to  trial  without  such  de- 
lays and  technicalities  as  are  experienced  in  America,  and 
stern  justice  meted  out. 

The  Times-Democrat  of  New  Orleans  publishes  figures 
showing  86,934  murders  were  committed  in  America  in  ten 
years  and  only  1,149  executions  in  that  time,  only  one  in 
seventy  being  executed. 

Among  the  many  letters  I have  received  I cannot  re- 
frain from  giving  my  readers  the  contents  of  one  from  a 
boy  perhaps  not  more  than  twelve  years  of  age.  He  was 
in  the  Boys’  House  of  Refuge,  where  I used  to  go  every 
Wednesday  when  in  the  city,  to  read,  lecture  and  encourage 
the  inmates  to  make  the  very  best  of  life,  and  show  them  the 
excellent  opportunity  before  them,  even  though  they  are 
confined  within  the  walls  of  a reformatory.  The  letter 
reads : 

“Dear  Mrs.  Joseph: 

“I  write  you  these  few  lines  to  ask  you  if  you  will  be 
kind  enuff  to  take  me  out.  I would  like  to  have  a home 
where  I could  have  a place  to  work.  I have  not  got  any 
parents  to  take  me  out.  I am  the  boy  that  can  draw  maps 
so  good.  I am  the  one  Mr.  Peyton,  the  teacher,  told  you 
I was  a good  boy.  I have  been  in  here  a long  time,  and  I 
would  like  to  get  out.  I will  work  around  the  house.  I 
will  be  a good  boy  and  do  as  you  tell  me.  I was  sent  here 
because  I had  no  home.  I am  in  the  fourth  reader  and  I 
can  read  well.  Some  of  these  days,  if  God  spares  me  and 
nothing  happens,  I will  go  to  Africa  and  teach  these  people. 
I am  a Christian  and  I am  glad  of  it.  I try  to  be  a good 
boy  and  learn  more  about  God.  We  can  never  learn  enuff 
about  God.  When  you  come  here  Wednesday  please  take 
me  out.  This  is  from  Joseph  Howard  Hawkins.” 

Could  you  see  this  bright-eyed  little  fellow  you  could 


HOME  AT  WORK  AGAIN 


125 


not  help  liking  him.  There  is  a look  of  intelligence  and 
attraction  in  his  countenance.  Think  of  it,  a Christian  ! I 
know  you  would  be  impressed  with  him.  I have  learned 
to  love  him  and  think  him  as  nice  as  he  has  written. 
He  made  his  way  from  Canton,  Miss.  He  had  no  home, 
no  mother,  nor  father,  only  an  aged  grandmother,  whom 
he  had  assisted  as  best  he  could.  So  he  thought  by  com- 
ing here  he  might  be  able  to  find  something  to  do  whereby 
he  could  be  of  more  assistance  to  this  loving  old  grand- 
mother. The  charge  against  him  was  juvenile  vagrancy. 
So  you  see  why  he  was  arrested  and  sent  to  the  reformatory. 
Having  heard  me  read  of  the  life  of  David  Livingstone,  he 
became  inspired  to  become  a missionary  some  day.  He 
drew  a very  pretty  map  of  Africa.  Who  knows  but  that 
this  little  fellow  was  not  a born  artist  or  missionary? 

There  were  a great  many  more  just  such  promising, 
bright  little  boys  in  that  institution. 

I was  awaited  with  much  anxiety  on  Wednesday  to 
speak  to  these  dear  hearts.  Of  course,  they  were  not  all 
very  good,  for  some  were  there  for  murder,  some  for  gamb- 
ling and  others  for  malicious  mischief,  while  many  were 
there  simply  because  they  were  homeless  and  at  the  same 
time  perfectly  innocent  of  crime.  This  mingling  of  good 
and  bad  can  but  have  a very  ill  effect  upon  the  former. 

The  early  impressions  upon  youths  are  always  lasting. 
Good  environment  is  invaluable  to  the  development  of  body 
and  mind.  . It  has  greater  influence  over  children,  because 
the  child’s  mind  is  fresh,  receptive  and  retentive.  Few  plants 
can  thrive  or  reach  maturity  surrounded  by  weeds.  One 
or  the  other  must  suffer.  So  it  is  with  these  children.  Having 
committed  no  crime,  they  should  not  be  placed  with  those 
who  have.  There  is  nothing  good  to  be  learned  by  this 
mingling.  Instead,  much  evil  is  taught  by  this  school  of 
vice  furnished  by  the  city. 


126 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

COLORED  INDUSTRIAL  HOME. 

To  help  remedy  the  conditions  mentioned  in  previous 
chapters  I have  founded  an  industrial  home  and  school, 
where  the  homeless  children  of  my  race  may  be  cared  for 
and  trained  for  lives  of  usefulness. 

Our  school  is  located  within  the  corporate  limits  of  the 
city  of  New  Orleans,  about  five  miles  from  the  center,  on  a 
beautiful  shell  road — Gentilly  Avenue.  The  Louisville  and 
Nashville  Railroad  runs  through  the  grounds,  and  the  Vil- 
lere  Street  car  is  just  within  a half-mile  of  the  buildings,  af- 
fording splendid  facilities  for  transportation.  The  campus 
is  elevated  and  shaded  with  many  pecan  and  a variety  of 
fruit  trees.  The  grounds  are  adorned  with  beautiful  plants, 
many  of  which  bloom  all  the  year.  The  grounds  consist  of 
105  acres,  fifteen  of  which  are  under  cultivation  by  an  ex- 
perienced truck  farmer.  This  furnishes  admirable  facilities 
for  training  the  boys  along  industrial  lines.  The  three  main 
buildings  are  conveniently  situated,  and  the  whole  plant  is 
worth  about  $75,000.  This  industrial  home  and  school  was 
founded  eleven  years  ago,  during  which  time  we  have  added 
two  large  buildings,  a dormitory  for  boys  with  a schoolhouse 
combined  at  a cost  of  $4,000.  In  1911  the  girls’  dormitory 
and  domestic  science  building  was  added  at  a cost  of  $6,150. 
Part  of  this  money  was  raised  by  the  Times-Democrat  of 
our  city. 

This  beautiful  three-story  frame  structure  was  named 
in  memory  of  my  dearest  friend,  Mrs.  Ida  A.  Rich- 
ardson, who  departed  this  life  on  Sunday,  April  10,  1910. 
She  was  one  of  God’s  true  servants,  a treasure.  She  made 
the  doing  of  good  her  life  work.  Philanthropy  with  her  was 
not  the  belated  restitution  of  the  rich ; not  a thing  apart  from 
the  real  business  of  life,  no  pastime  nor  fad,  no  empty  theory. 
Every  thought  of  her  active  and  practical  brain,  almost  all 
of  her  income  and  the  better  part  of  her  capital,  were  dedi- 
cated to  her  fellow-men.  Mrs.  Richardson  for  many  years 
spent  her  income  in  the  cause  of  education  and  charity,  and 
worked  as  hard  as  any  capitalist  to  make  her  investments 
pay,  simply  that  she  might  have  more  to  give.  New  Or- 
leans has  had  many  public-spirited  citizens,  generous  bene- 
factors, but  none  like  Mrs.  Richardson.  Such  a life  is  never 


IDA  A.  RICHARDSON  MEMORIAL,  THE  GIRLS’ DORMITORY. 


COLORED  INDUSTRIAL  HOME 


127 


ended ; for  the  good,  as  well  as  the  evil  that  we  do,  lives 
after  us. 

Her  life  was  a rare  instance  of  power  for  good  that  lies 
in  each  of  us  as  well  as  an  instance  of  wealth  rightly  used. 
She  reduced  her  own  personal  needs  to  simplicity  and  de- 
voted herself  completely  to  the  service  of  black  and  white. 
There  was  no  color  to  her  charity.  Her  unusual  faithfulness 
to  every  known  duty,  her  keen  practical  judgment,  her  hon- 
esty of  purpose  and  fervor  of  action,  her  unswerving  devo- 
tion to  her  church,  to  her  friends  and  to  the  many  associa- 
tions with  which  she  was  so  long  connected,  revealed  the 
true  womanliness  of  her  nature.  Her  philanthropies  were 
manifold,  her  charity  was  of  the  quality  which  vaunteth  not 
itself  but  is  kind.  The  poor  rise  up  and  call  her  blessed. 

She  was  a true,  zealous  friend.  She  wrote  an  appeal  for 
my  school  and  sought  subscriptions  to  help  us  build  a dor- 
mitory, for  which  some  of  her  friends  criticised  her  severely 
and  sought  to  keep  her  from  soliciting.  This  displeased  her 
and  caused  her  to  write  letters  to  all  the  leading  papers  of 
our  city  condemning  her  friends  for  this  injustice  and  preju- 
dice. She  called  a meeting  of  the  leading  white  citizens  at 
her  home.  Her  elegant  parlors  were  filled,  and  when  Judge 
Robert  H.  Marr  stated  the  object  of  the  meeting  and  I was 
requested  to  give  a description  of  the  work,  her  dear  face 
beamed  with  pleasure.  This  I did,  and  when  the  speech- 
making was  over,  she  was  overjoyed  to  hear  Mr.  Alfred 
LeBlanc,  treasurer  of  the  Advisory  Board  and  agent  for  the 
Harrison  Line  Steamship  Company,  say,  “We  have  received 
at  this  meeting  over  a thousand  dollars  for  Frances  Joseph’s 
work.” 

The  following  was  sent  by  her  to  all  of  the  local  news- 
papers : 


“Movement  To  Aid  the  Worthy  Cause.” 

The  following  appeal  was  written  by  Mrs.  Dr.  T.  G. 
Richardson  on  behalf  of  the  Colored  Industrial  Home  and 
School  and  is  endorsed  by  the  Protestant  Ministers’  Alli- 
ance of  this  city,  white  : 


128 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


MRS.  RICHARDSON’S  APPEAL. 

Will  not  all  who  remember  a dear  old  “Mammy,”  a 
“Nana”  or  an  “Aunty,”  in  their  early  childhood  days,  when 
they  were  fondled,  petted,  coddled  and  sung  to  sleep  night 
after  night,  and  to  whose  arms  they  ran  to  be  shielded  from 
some  well  deserved  punishment  from  mother,  be  willing  to 
spend  one  dollar  to  help  Frances  Joseph  in  doing  her  noble 
work  for  colored  children  in  her  Industrial  Home  and 
School?  There  children  are  being  taught  that  labor  is  hon- 
orable, and  by  learning  to  work  intelligently  they  can  be- 
come self-supporting,  industrious  and  respected  citizens. 

Is  it  not  a plain  duty  to  us,  who  remember  the  love  and 
devotion  of  Negroes  in  the  days  of  slavery,  and  their  faith- 
fulness during  the  war,  when,  under  every  temptation,  they 
refused  to  leave  their  mistresses  and  children,  even  when 
left  without  the  master  and  protector,  to  assist  this  good, 
earnest  woman  in  lifting  the  heavy  debt  resting  upon  her, 
and  in  helping  her  to  properly  educate  the  Negro  children, 
not  only  for  their  own  benefit,  but  for  our  future  interest  as 
well?  Therefore,  it  is  to  those  who  can  look  back  and  re- 
member the  love  and  devotion  in  those  bvgone  davs,  when 
as  slaves,  the  Negroes  so  tenderly  nursed  them  when  sick, 
and  night  after  night  cared  for  them  when  peevish  and  fret- 
ful. It  is  for  those  who  prepared  our  dead  for  the  grave, 
watching  by  them  to  the  last,  and  who  mourned  with  us 
in  our  sorrow  for  father  or  mother,  and  thev  for  “Old  Mas- 
ter” or  “Mistress,”  that  I make  this  appeal,  not  only  as  a 
duty,  but  in  love  and  gratitude  for  the  devotion  their  par- 
ents and  grandparents  showed  for  us. 

(Signed)  IDA  A.  RICHARDSON. 

Contributions  may  be  sent  to  'Mrs.  T.  G.  Richardson. 
2426  Prytania;  Mrs.  F.  Joseph,  2611  St.  Ann  Street,  or  to 
the  Daily  Picayune  Office. 

Commenting  on  the  same,  the  Picayune  printed  the 
following : 


MRS.  IDA  A.  RICHARDSON 
Philanthropist. 


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129 


SOUTH’S  TENDER  MEMORIES  OF  THE 
LOYAL  OLD  SLAVES. 

Recalled  by  Mrs.  Ida  A.  Richardson  and  Other  Real  Friends 

of  the  Blacks  Who  Are  Now  Seeking  to  Aid  the 
Cause  of  Practical  Negro  Education  as  Prac- 
ticed in  Industrial  Schools. 

During  the  past  week  Mrs.  Dr.  T.  G.  Richardson,  New 
Orleans’  greatest  woman  philanthropist,  has  made  several 
eloquent  appeals  through  the  columns  of  the  Picayune  for 
money  with  which  to  pay  off  the  debt  on  the  Frances  Joseph 
Home,  and  thus  forward  its  usefulness.  No  institution  could 
have  a nobler  or  more  practical  mission  than  this,  which  is 
devoted  to  rescuing  homeless  Negro  boys  and  girls  and 
teaching  them  some  honest  craft  by  which  they  can  make 
a livelihood. 

The  work  was  started  years  ago  by  Mrs.  Frances  Jo- 
seph, a colored  woman  of  education  and  broad  sympathies, 
who  decided  that  she  could  best  help  her  race  by  helping 
its  children.  Since  then  she  has  frequented  the  recorders’ 
courts  and  the  police  jail,  and  whenever  a boy  or  girl  would 
be  arrested  for  vagrancy  or  some  petty  misdemeanor,  she 
has  taken  the  forlorn  little  creature  to  her  home,  and  there 
tried  to  instill  into  them  the  precepts  of  a higher  life,  and 
taught  them  how  to  work  as  a first  aid  to  righteousness. 
Finding  her  little  home  too  narrow  for  her  constantly  grow- 
ing family,  three  years  ago  Mrs.  Joseph  bought  a farm  on 
the  Gentilly  Road  for  $5,000,  where  she  has  established  a 
market  garden  with  the  ultimate  hope  of  making  the  insti- 
tution self-supportingg,  but  there  still  remains  a mortgage 
of  $3,000  upon  it,  one  note  of  which  is  coming  due  in  April, 
and  it  is  the  money  to  pay  off  this  for  which  Mrs.  Richard- 
son appeals. 

“It  is  an  appeal  that  should  not  be  made  in  vain  to  any 
Southern  man  or  woman,”  said  Mrs.  Richardson  yesterday, 
as  she  sat  in  the  beautiful  library  of  her  luxurious  home, 
“for  there  is  not  one  of  us  who  belongs  to  an  older  genera- 
tion, at  least,  who  has  not  some  tender  recollection  of  an  old 
mammy  on  whose  broad  breast  we  were  cradled  in  child- 
hood, or  of  some  faithful  servant  whose  loyalty  never  wav- 


130 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


ered  and  whose  devotion  never  faltered  during  all  the  shock 
of  the  war.  * * * 

“The  one  thing,”  she  said,  “that  the  North  has  never 
been  able  to  understand  was  the  relationship  that  existed 
between  the  slaves  and  their  masters.  On  one  side  was  love 
and  responsibility  and  on  the  other  pride  and  faithfulness 
and  out  of  these  grew  a bond  of  devotion  that  lasted  as  long 
as  life  did.  I remember  one  of  my  friends,  who  died  a few 
years  ago — an  old  woman — who  sent  for  all  of  her  old  slaves 
before  she  passed  away  to  bid  them  farewell,  and  when  they 
hung  their  heads,  weeping,  around  her  bed,  and  asked,  ‘Mis- 
tress, what  can  we  do  for  you?’  she  said,  ‘I  want  you  to  be 
my  pallbearers.’  And  six  of  the  Negro  men,  who  had  served 
her  in  life,  bore  her  to  her  grave.  In  my  own  family,  during 
the  war,  when  we  could  no  longer  protect  our  money  and 
jewelry  from  the  marauding  soldiery  we  gave  them  to  two 
faithful  servants  who  carried  them  safely  through  every  dif- 
ficulty, and  gave  them  untouched  to  us  at  last.  One  of  these 
servants,  a man,  carried  messages  through  the  lines  to  a 
member  of  the  family,  who  was  in  hiding,  and  thus  held  the 
master’s  life  in  his  hands.  Nor  were  these  instances  rare. 
Southern  men  went  to  war  absolutely  without  fear,  leaving 
their  women  and  children  in  the  care  of  some  old  uncle  in 
whose  faith  and  trustworthiness  they  could  rely.  ‘Marse 
Chan’,  Thomas  Nelson  Page’s  beautiful  story,  had  a thou- 
sand prototypes  all  over  the  South.” 

d 

On  Sunday,  April  12,  1912,  the  school  was  caused  to 
mourn  the  loss  by  death  of  another  staunch  friend  in  the 
person  of  Mr.  Albert  Baldwin.  He  was  born  at  Water- 
town,  Mass.,  April  7,  1834.  He  came  to  New  Orleans  in 
1858,  engaged  in  numerous  successful  business  enterprises, 
winning  his  way  into  the  hearts  of  the  citizens,  who  re- 
garded him  with  the  highest  esteem  and  confidence.  His 
great  business  qualifications  were  shown  by  the  large  num- 
ber of  positions  of  trust  and  honor  he  held;  namely,  vice- 
president  of  the  Times-Democrat  Publishing  Co.,  a director 
of  the  Union  Ferry  Co.,  National  Rice  Milling  Co.,  and  the 
Gullet  Gin  Co.  In  1874,  he  was  elected  president  of  the  New 
Orleans  National  Bank,  which  office  he  retained  until  1906. 
Under  his  management  the  institutoin  grew  from  a small 
beginning  to  its  present  important  position  in  the  banking 


ALBERT  BALDWIN, 
Banker  and  Philanthropist. 


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131 


world.  His  son,  Albert  Baldwin,  Jr.,  is  his  worthy  successor. 
Mr.  Baldwin  was  prominently  identified  with  the  social  and 
fraternal  life  of  the  city,  being  a member  of  several  carnival 
organizations  and  the  moving  spirit  in  the  Southern  Yacht 
Club.  Mr.  Baldwin  was  a very  charitable  man,  but  unos- 
tentatious in  his  donations.  His  contributions  to  public 
movements  of  all  characters  are  remembered  by  many  and 
his  private  charities  are  known  to  have  been  extensive. 

Mr.  Albert  Baldwin  was  president  of  our  Advisory 
Board,  and  his  unnumbered  beneficences  included  our  Home 
for  the  young.  His  silent,  sympathetic,  generous  giv- 
ing to  our  Home  in  the  early  years  of  its  struggles  had  no 
witness  save  God  and  a few  members  of  our  race  bound 
to  observe  his  injunction  that  his  helpfulness  remain 
untold.  Fearless  in  his  attitude  of  sympathy  for  our  people, 
he  gave  no  hint  of  his  substantial  nature.  He  personally 
visited  the  Colored  Industrial  Home,  saw  its  workings, 
commented  with  discretion  upon  its  needs  and  many  times 
called  meetings  which  proved  financially  and  ethically  to  its 
good.  It  was  indeed  a dark  hour  when  we  learned  of  the 
passing  of  this  great  and  simple  man,  because  of  the  grief 
honestly  felt  in  the  hearts  of  our  children  and  the  staggering 
effect  upon  our  courage.  We  did  not  approach  Mr.  Baldwin 
for  money;  but  when  some  friction  or  complexity  arose,  we 
knew  where  the  court  of  high  appeal  might  be  found,  and 
that  it  was  approachable,  eager  to  help  by  counsel  from  a 
legally-clear  judgment.  This  Home  long  mourned  its  friend, 
regrets  him  still,  counting  his  years  all  too  short  for  the  ac- 
complishment of  the  ideals  that  inspired  him.  In  none  of 
the  mansions  of  the  mighty  where  he  was  known  is  his 
memory  more  sacredly  preserved  than  among  ourselves,  and 
we  hold  his  high  example  before  the  waifs  and  estrays  who 
come  to  us,  as  a type  of  Christian  whom  even  the  humble 
might  emulate.  For  in  him  there  was  no  pride  of  attain- 
ment, no  glorying  in  what  he  was ; his  soul  revealed  love  for 
his  fellow-man,  a desire  to  live  usefully  and  in  humility  to 
his  Maker. 

Now  that  he  is  gone  many  whom  he  helped  have  spo- 
ken of  his  thousands  of  dollars  given  to  Miss  Wright’s  Night 
School ; to  Catholics,  Jewish  and  Protestant  Asylums,  and 
institutions  of  various  kinds.  But  there  is  one  little  instance 
which  we  like  to  recall  and  which  shows  the  kindliness  of 


132 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


his  heart  as  manifested  in  little  things.  Every  morning  at 
about  six  o’clock,  Mr.  Baldwin  went  out  on  horseback  for 
an  hour,  according  to  a lifetime  custom.  Instead  of  riding 
out  beautiful  Esplanade  avenue  or  in  the  parks,  he  chose 
the  streets  inhabited  by  the  poor,  the  roads  being  sometimes 
almost  impassable.  Here  he  would  dispense  flowers  from 
his  pockets,  to  the  children,  white  and  colored,  as  they  ap- 
peared, and  when  it  could  be  unostentatiously  done,  slipped 
coins  into  their  hands.  The  children  ran  along  beside  him 
begging  for  flowers  and  their  joyful  thanks  followed  him 
like  sweetest  music  as  he  returned  to  the  thoroughfares  and 
his  home.  One  day  he  remarked  to  a member  of  his  fam- 
ily: “I  have  to  order  more  roses  for  the  garden.”  “Order 
more  roses  ! You  already  have  so  many — why  not  plant 
other  flowers?”  Mr.  Baldwin  shook  his  head,  smiling:  “My 
customers  seem  to  prefer  roses,”  he  answered.  His  “cus- 
tomers” were  the  children  who  hailed  him  each  morning 
with  a request  for  a rose.  Tiny  bunches  of  violets  were 
made  up  by  his  gardener,  sprays  of  mignonette,  pure  lilies, 
but  he  had  found  out  that  the  demand  was  more  insistent  for 
roses,  and  roses  the  children  must  have ! And  it  gave  him 
delight  to  please  the  children  by  humoring  them.  I had  not 
heard  of  this  daily  morning  incident  until  after  the  death 
of  our  benevolent  friend.  When  on  a visit  to  my  daughter 
her  little  lame  girl  complained  that  “the  kind  white  gentle- 
man who  gave  her  flowers  and  nickels  had  not  passed  for  a 
week.  Upon  questioning  the  child’s  mother  told  of  the  daily 
ride  of  Mr.  Baldwin  through  unpaved,  scarce-visited  streets, 
and  the  echoes  of  cheery  words  and  fragrances  of  costly 
blossoms  he  left  in  his  wake.  It  was  my  duty  to  tell  the 
little  maimed  girl  that  the  earthly  friend  of  the  children,  of 
the  aged,  of  the  lowly,  would  pass  no  more,  for  he  had  rid- 
den away  on  the  grey  steed  of  Death  which  brings  back  no 
rider.  The  child  of  seven  understood  and  wept.  Per- 
haps no  sincerer  tribute  was  paid  the  dead  philanthropist 
than  those  tears  of  the  little  lame  child,  in  a lowly  home  of 
the  French  Quarter.  Such  tears  started  readily  still  at  men- 
tion of  the  name  of  one  who  was  known  as  a foremost  fin- 
ancier, a courtly  gentleman,  a patron  of  arts  and  princely 
host.  We  know  him  to  have  been  first  of  all  a brother  to 
the  humble,  a friend  to  the  downtrodden  and  obscure,  a 
tender  parent  to  all  children.  Our  pilgrimmage  has  been 


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133 


made  easier  by  the  staff  he  extended  to  all  who  plodded 
over  rough  roads.  A practical  Christianity  was  his,  which 
admitted  all  creeds,  all  races. 

“To  live  in  hearts  we  leave  behind  is  not  to  die.”  Truly 
in  our  hearts  we  will  burn  incense  to  his  good  deeds,  and, 
now  that  we  cannot  displease  him  by  so  doing,  speak  often 
of  his  munificence.  And  though  we  are  sorrowing  at  the 
thought  of  the  mansion  he  has  builded  in  the  House  of 
God,  we  will  glory  in  his  sacrifices  and  gifts,  his  noble  in- 
spiration and  friendly  word  and  sum  up  our  praise  of  him 
and  appreciation  of  him  in  one  earnest  Alleluia  ! 

Mrs.  Mary  Henderson,  another  dear  friend,  we  must 
mention,  who  became  interested  in  us  from  the  beginning, 
visited  us  quietly  from  time  to  time,  anticipating  our  wants, 
sending  us  the  funds  we  needed  always  with  the  parting  in- 
junction, “Say  nothing  about  it.” 

The  second  Christmas  in  the  work  found  us  without 
funds  for  Christmas  joys.  Visiting  us  a week  after  and  ask- 
ing how  we  enjoyed  Christmas,  I told  her  we  were  not  able 
to  give  the  children  a Christmas  tree.  She  hung  her  head 
in  sorrow  and  I saw  two  large  tears  fall  on  her  handker- 
chief and  she  said,  “That  must  not  happen  as  long  as  I live,” 
and  she  saw  to  it  that  there  was  joy  for  the  children  each 
Christmas  until  her  death.  She  gave  the  first  large  dona- 
tion towards  building  the  boys’  dormitory. 

These  generous  hearts  have  gone  to  their  reward.  They 
saw  that  that  which  they  gave  the  home  and  school  was  well 
invested.  Their  money  helped  to  save  to  the  state  and  so- 
ciety those  who  would  have  helped  to  swell  the  criminal 
ranks. 

One  of  our  girls  served  three  years  in  the  home  of  Mrs. 
Ida  Richardson,  giving  perfect  satisfaction  until  Mrs.  Rich- 
ardson’s death.  One  of  our  boys  ran  away  from  his  home 
where  he  was  being  ill-treated  in  one  of  the  country  par- 
ishes, came  to  our  city  in  a box  car.  He  was  promptly 
taken  by  the  officer  when  he  arrived  at  the  depot,  brought 
to  court  and  turned  over  to  me.  His  age  was  ten  years.  He 
was  ragged,  barefooted  and  bareheaded,  and  had  never 
been  to  school.  We  taught  him  to  read  and  write,  and  for 
four  years  he  acted  as  our  business  agent.  He  wished  to 
go  out  to  work.  We  let  him  go.  To-day  he  is  chauffeur 
for  one  of  the  leading  families.  Another  one  of  our 


134 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


many  boys  we  might  mention  was  following  bad  com- 
pany in  the  country,  was  sent  to  us,  kept  three  years,  then 
put  to  work  for  himself,  and  to-day  he  is  the  trusted  em- 
ployee of  one  of  the  leading  hotels,  where  he  has  been  for 
three  years.  Another  boy  we  have  had  in  the  home  for 
three  years  has  been  at  work  for  four  years.  He  has  felt 
grateful  to  us  for  our  training  and  sent  us  as  a present  a 
fine  Jersey  cow  which  we  badly  needed.  He  paid  for  the 
cow  out  of  his  hard-earned  savings.  Many  of  our  girls  are 
married  and  are  doing  well. 

Among  those  to  be  thanked  for  service  rendered,  which 
was  equivalent  to  money,  is  Mrs.  Sarah  Wagner,  who  re- 
mained with  us  for  about  five  months,  serving  as  matron  and 
teaching  the  children  creole  cooking.  She  was  unable  to 
give  money,  but  she  gave  her  loving  service  free  of  charge. 
This  was  in  the  beginning  of  our  work.  The  lamented 
President  McKinley  said  the  chief  factor  in  his  cabinet  was 
his  cook,  likewise  was  Mrs.  Wagner  to  our  Home  and 
School. 

I have  children  in  school  whose  parents  have  gone  to 
the  state  prison  to  serve  a number  of  years.  I have  adopted 
them,  and  God  helping  me  I shall  raise  them  to  be  indus- 
trious, upright  citizens.  Other  parents  have  gone  to  the 
insane  asylum  leaving  their  children  homeless  and  desti- 
tute. Still  others  have  crossed  the  great  beyond. 

One  morning  the  telephone  rang  for  me  to  come  up  to 
the  city  to  get  a baby  girl  and  a boy  about  nine  years  of  age. 
We  got  the  buggy  ready  and  went  to  the  court.  The  chil- 
dren were  there.  I charged  both  with  being  vagrants.  The 
baby  smiled  as  I stood  before  the  judge  with  her.  The  charge 
was  read,  she  could  only  coo,  being  merely  six  months  old. 
The  baby  was  formally  turned  over  to  me,  after  which  she 
was  carried  out  to  the  Home.  After  five  months  in  our  care, 
a couple  wanting  a baby  adopted  Ruth.  The  baby  will 
never  know  that  there  was  a charge  made  against  her,  and 
that  she  broke  the  law  when  only  six  months  old. 

Another  pitiful  case  came  to  my  attention  over  the  tel- 
ephone. The  message  was,  “Come  out  at  once  and  get  five 
children  who  are  sick  and  starving.”  We  hurried  to  an  old 
brick  building,  fit  only  for  rats  to  live  in,  on  Front  street. 
In  a corner  of  the  room,  the  flooring  of  which  had  rotted 


RUTH, 

Abandoned  When  Six  Months  Old. 


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135 


away,  was  some  old  straw  and  rags ; on  this  lay  three  sick, 
starving  children,  watched  by  two  older  ones,  almost  naked. 
We  had  been  advised  to  bring  some  clothing  for  these  chil- 
dren, and  after  dressing  them,  they  were  placed  in  our  surrey, 
and  hurried  to  the  Home.  Just  as  we  were  leaving  the 
cocaine-crazed  mother  came  along  and  was  immediately 
taken  in  charge  by  the  police.  By  faithful  labor  we  suc- 
ceeded in  nursing  all  back  to  health  save  the  eleven-month 
old  baby,  whose  condition  was  beyond  human  aid. 

Many  mothers  who  have  children  to  support  leave  them 
for  us  to  raise,  for  which  they  sometimes  give  us  a small  fee. 
Sometimes  they  are  regular,  but  oft  times  they  are  delin- 
quent in  their  payments.  We  had  hoped  to  get  more  money 
to  carry  on  this  work.  We  can  but  wait  and  pray  that  God 
might  open  the  hearts  of  His  treasurers  to  help  save  these 
poor  helpless  children.  We  have  boys  from  neighbor- 
ing states.  They  get  to  the  city  by  stealing  a ride  on 
freight  trains.  The  officers  pick  them  up  from  the  streets 
and  send  them  to  us.  We  care  for  them,  being  mind- 
ful of  the  fact  that  boys  are  generally  restless.  Many 
men  of  to-day,  high  in  the  nation’s  estimation,  were  at 
one  time  runaways,  among  whom,  it  is  said,  are  the  Japanese 
Marquise  Ito,  Governor  Shneral  of  Korea,  Japan;  Samuel 
L.  Clemens  (Mark  Twain),  of  Hannibal,  Missouri,  the 
world’s  most  famous  humorist;  Joaquin  Miller,  of  Califor- 
nia, the  poet  of  the  Sierras;  John  Weaver,  who  successfully 
defended  the  American  Cup  three  times ; W.  R.  Grace,  a 
former  Mayor  of  New  York  City;  Senator  Anselmo  J.  Mc- 
Laurin,  of  Mississippi;  Senator  George  Clement  Perkins, 
of  California ; George  Washington  Cooke,  Representative-at- 
Large  from  Colorado ; Sir  Thomas  Lipton,  of  London,  Eng- 
land; and  among  the  colored  race  are  Frederick  Douglass, 
who,  it  is  said,  fought  with  the  dogs  for  a choice  bone  to 
sustain  life  while  on  the  run;  Bishop  Wayman,  of  the  Afri- 
can Methodist  Church;  Crispus  Attucks,  of  Framingham, 
Mass.,  patriot,  soldier  and  martyr,  to  whose  memory  is 
erected  on  Boston  Common  a statue  for  having  given  his 
life  for  American  independence.  His  blood  was  the  first 
shed  in  the  Revolution.  Harriet  Tubman,  the  famous  scout 
in  the  Union  Army,  and  Sojourner  Truth  are  among  the 
Negro  women.  I am  glad  these  were  not  caught  and  placed 
in  a reformatory.  Some  of  the  reformatories  of  to-day  are 


136 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


simply  resting  places  on  the  road  to  the  state  prison.  The 
children  are  not  classified  as  they  should  be.  We  do  not 
need  more  reformatories  but  more  well  equipped  manual 
training  schools  with  truck  farms  attached  so  that  the 
mischievous  youth  may  be  taught  to  work  off  in  a helpful 
way  some  of  his  surplus  energy. 

I believe  in  the  classification  of  children.  I am  satisfied 
that,  “One  rotten  apple  will  spoil  a barrel.”  Having  been 
a “Probation  Officer,”  appointed  by  the  Judge  of  the  Juve- 
nile Court,  I am  still  in  touch  with  that  tribunal  from  which 
boys  and  girls,  from  time  to  time,  are  committed  to  my  care. 
Therefore  I am  in  a position  to  know. 

I am  often  asked  the  question  “What  do  you  do  with 
the  youths  and  how  long  do  you  keep  them?”  We  invaria- 
bly try  to  seek  good  Christian  homes  in  which  to  place 
children,  ranging  in  age  from  six  to  eight  years.  The  boys 
do  gardening  before  and  after  school  and  are  taught  the  care 
of  stock,  poultry  raising  and  general  out-door  work,  as  well 
as  to  care  for  their  own  rooms  and  to  keep  the  buildings 
nice  and  clean,  while  the  girls  are  taught  cooking,  plain  and 
fancy  sewing,  mattress  making,  laundering  and  general 
housework.  When  they  have  been  trained  well  enough  to 
be  recommended  then  they  are  ready  to  go  out  in  service 
and  work  for  wages.  By  these  means  we  are  continually 
releasing  the  children,  and  this  must  be  done  in  order  to 
make  room  for  others  that  are  coming  in.  All  are  taught  to 
work,  but  in  the  meanwhile  are  given  ample  time  for  recre- 
ation. When  they  are  out  in  service  our  children  are  always 
made  to  understand  that  the  school  is  their  home.  We  en- 
courage them  in  this  way  to  form  an  attachment  for  the 
school  and  at  the  same  time  to  feel  that  we  are  interested  in 
them  and  still  have  some  jurisdiction  over  them. 

So  remarkable  has  been  our  progress  that  although  we 
started  out  to  help  the  unfortunates,  parents  have  come  to 
us  not  only  in  our  own  city  but  from  adjoining  states,  and 
begged  that  we  take  their  children.  This  constant  demand 
compelled  us  to  establish  a boarding  department  where  we 
charge  the  students  $6.00  per  month,  not  for  the  money,  but 
simply  to  help  the  poor  and  needy. 

I know  of  no  other  work  that  boys  enjoy  more  than 
agriculture.  To  give  a boy  a plot  of  ground  to  cultivate  and 


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137 


watch  the  plants  grow  is  to  make  him  a valuable  present. 
You  might  be  amused  to  see  several  of  our  boys  with  their 
individual  little  gardens  working  faithfully  their  little  crops, 
each  trying  to  excel  the  other. 

When  a boy  has  made  a failure  in  his  crop  he  will  sell 
his  land  to  another  ready  buyer  and  beg  for  another  plot  in 
some  other  part  of  the  field.  Some  boys  combine  and  take 
as  many  plots  as  possible  from  one  who  is  willing  to  sell 
and  grow  enough  vegetables  to  gather  and  send  to  market 
with  ours.  They  are  encouraged  in  this  also  because  this 
places  individual  responsibility  upon  the  boy.  Besides  we 
find  this  healthful  and  produces  rapid  muscular  develop- 
ment. 

You  perhaps  would  be  surprised  to  know  how  much  a 
boy  of  from  ten  to  twelve  years  can  do  in  a garden  or  truck 
farm.  Gathering,  bunching  and  transplanting  vegetables 
seem  to  be  children’s  work.  Being  young  and  active,  they 
can  do  so  much  more  of  it  than  an  adult,  in  less  time,  and 
with  much  more  ease.  One  of  our  little  boys  has  put  up 
i, 060  bunches  of  carrots,  five  in  a bunch,  in  a day  of  eight 
hours.  Another  has  picked  20  buckets  of  stringbeans  in  the 
same  time.  They  take  special  pride  in  preparing  the  vege- 
tables for  the  shipper,  and  are  always  anxiously  awaiting 
the  reports  of  sales  and  are  happy  when  we  get  a good  price 
and  are  able  to  pay  off  some  of  our  many  bills. 

One  of  our  boys  of  twelve  years,  thinking  we  ought  to 
get  a higher  price  for  our  vegetables,  stopped  a farmer  living 
near  by  and  asked  where  he  shipped  his  vegetables  and  the 
price  he  got  for  them.  The  farmer  replied,  “Pittsburg,” 
and  quoted  the  prices  he  received.  The  boy  was  elated  and 
told  the  other  boys.  That  evening  when  I got  in  from  a 
meeting  a delegation  waited  upon  me  and  requested  that  I 
get  in  touch  with  the  shipper  and  investigate,  which  I did, 
with  better  results  from  our  sales. 

Each  year  I give  the  boys  a piece  of  land  for  their  own 
use.  They  began  to  dispute  over  their  land ; so  I decided  to 
take  it  from  them,  and  sell  it  at  auction  to  the  highest  bid- 
der for  a term  of  eight  months.  Some  offered  as  much  as 
$1.75  for  a tract  measuring  30  by  30  feet,  another  $1.80  for 
a tract  100  by  8 feet;  another  $1.50  for  100  by  6 feet,  and 
still  another  50  cents  for  12  by  12  feet.  They  purpose  to 


138 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


buy  seeds  from  me  and  when  the  vegetables  are  matured, 
to  sell  at  a profit,  at  which  time  collections  would  be  made 
for  the  sale  of  the  land. 

A boy  of  fourteen  years  has  been  selected  to  look  after 
the  marketing  as  our  sales  agent.  He  has  handled  over 
$35.00  for  us  at  one  sale,  is  honest  and  reliable,  never  loses 
a single  cent  or  loiters  on  the  way.  This  boy  is  the  younger 
of  two  brothers,  whose  father  abandoned  them  when  they 
were  seven  and  eight  years  old. 

Our  girls  are  as  equally  enthusiastic  about  their  work 
and  the  earning  of  money.  Some  of  the  girls  wash  and  sew 
for  former  inmates  who  are  out  in  service,  thus  earning  a 
little  money  to  help  themselves.  They  are  always  eager  to 
try  new  dishes  in  cooking  and,  like  the  boys,  each  is  trying 
to  excel  the  other  so  as  to  stand  at  the  head  of  the  class. 
They  make  all  of  their  own  clothes  and  those  of  the  smaller 
boys.  All  are  taught  to  save  and  economize  and  that  labor 
is  honorable  and  dignified. 

A few  years  ago  we  needed  another  cow  so  as  to  have 
plenty  of  milk  for  some  children  who  were  sick  and  who 
needed  to  be  fed  on  a diet  of  milk  and  crackers. 

I went  to  the  “Stock  Landing,”  made  known  my  wants 
to  Messrs.  Rice  and  Mumford.  Those  kind-hearted  gentle- 
men immediately  worded  a petition,  headed  it  with  $5.00 
each,  circulated  it  among  other  commissioners  and  business 
men  and  in  less  than  an  hour  had  succeeded  in  raising  the 
neat  little  sum  of  sixty  dollars.  In  the  meantime  I had  left 
for  home.  The  next  day  two  pretty  cows  were  driven  into 
our  yard  by  a young  man.  One  of  our  little  boys  of  eight 
years  came  running  in  breathless  haste  to  say  to  me  that 
God  had  sent  the  cow  we  had  been  praying  for.  And  sure 
enough  He  had,  for  we  know  that  “The  earth  is  the  Lord’s 
and  the  fulness  thereof.” 

The  children  are  taught  that  right  living  and  earnest 
prayers  will  always  bring  needed  blessings  from  God.  We 
hold  our  regular  prayer  meetings  on  Sunday  and  Wednes- 
day nights.  When  some  one  thing  is  needed  quickly  the 
children  pray  night  and  morning  until  that  need  has  been 
supplied. 

Of  course,  I am  fully  aware  of  the  educational  needs  of 
our  race.  The  higher  institutions  of  learning  are  all  doing  a 
great  and  noble  work.  W e need  college  men  and  college 


CONSTELLO, 

Abandoned  at  the  Age  of  Three  Years. 


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139 


women,  but  for  that  class  that  cannot  attain  higher  educa- 
tion let  us  give  them  what  education  we  can.  But  by  all 
means  let  us  emphasize  industrial  education  and  training. 
Let  us  teach  the  rising  generations  that  life  is  worth  living 
only  when  we  work,  work,  work  and  keep  on  working. 

One  morning  as  I was  sitting  in  court  waiting  for  a 
case  to  be  called  in  which  I was  interested,  a little  boy  was 
testifying  in  a case  exposing  the  conduct  of  the  saloon 
keepers  in  the  redlight  district.  They  would  employ  little 
boys  in  knee  pants  to  deliver  drinks  to  abandoned  women 
and  their  male  visitors  in  their  cribs.  On  hearing  this  tes- 
timony, I told  Miss  B.,  one  of  my  white  friends,  and  Mrs. 
Hill,  who  volunteered  to  go  with  me  on  a visit  to  the  slums. 
We  went  and  were  horrified  at  what  we  saw.  Many  chil- 
dren were  found  growing  up  in  this  hell  to  take  the  places  of 
those  whom  dissipation  killed  ere  they  reached  half  the  age 
allotted  to  man.  We  decided  to  print  some  tracts,  with  a 
copy  of  the  law  attached,  and  place  them  in  every  saloon  in 
the  district  to  notify  the  saloon  keepers  who  were  breaking 
the  laws  by  selling  to  minors.  We  selected  Saturday  night 
for  this  purpose,  and  walked  into  every  saloon,  leaving  our 
tracts  with  the  keepers  and  placed  some  on  the  gambling 
tables.  We  waited  a week,  and  when  we  saw  the  saloon 
keepers  paid  no  attention  to  our  warnings  we  went  to  see  the 
Mayor,  then  the  Chief  of  Police,  who  called  in  the  captains  of 
the  precincts,  told  them  there  were  complaints  and  that  they 
must  make  arrests.  Saturday  night  next,  we  three  met  again 
at  nine  o’clock.  The  inhabitants  of  the  district  were  in  the 
height  of  their  revelry.  We  went  into  the  leading  saloons, 
saw  the  children  as  before,  and  decided  to  act.  We  noticed 
a boy  of  about  ten  years  purchase  ten  cents  worth  of  whis- 
key and  leave  the  saloon.  I held  the  boy  while  Miss  B.  held 
the  glass  of  liquor  and  Mrs.  Hill  ran  for  an  officer.  Mrs. 
Hill  at  last  found  one,  who  appeared  to  be  dodging  her; 
she  got  him  to  come  where  we  were,  and  when  I made  com- 
plaint and  requested  the  officer  to  arrest  the  bar-keeper  and 
the  boy,  he  refused,  saying  he  did  not  see  the  trouble  and 
would  not  arrest  any  one  unless  one  of  us  went  along  to 
make  the  charge.  I readily  agreed  to  go  along,  thinking 
we  had  only  to  walk  to  the  station,  which  was  but  a few 
squares  away.  He  informed  me  that  I would  have  to  ride 
in  the  patrol  wagon.  This  brought  consternation  to  us ; 


140 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


horror  was  written  on  our  faces.  What  would  our  friends 
say?  The  newspapers  would  write  us  up,  and  we  would  be 
ridiculed  and  disgraced.  The  officer  smiled  at  our  discom- 
fiture, and  then  an  unseen  power  urged  me  on.  It  seemed 
to  whisper,  “Can  you  not  do  this  for  My  sake  to  save  the 
children  from  these  dens  of  vice?”  I grew  strong;  I said 
to  the  policeman,  “Order  your  patrol  wagon,  I will  go.” 
While  he  was  turning  in  the  call  I turned  over  all  the  tracts 
to  my  friends.  The  patrol  wagon  arrived.  The  policeman, 
the  boy,  the  bar-keeper  and  I climbed  in.  The  policeman 
made  me  sit  at  the  end,  under  the  bright  light  on  the  wagon, 
where  I could  be  seen  by  all.  What  humiliation  I suffered 
only  God  knows.  A large  crowd  gathered,  so  my  friends 
took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  and  in  the  brightly  light- 
ed street  they  distributed  tracts  to  all,  while  I rode  off  amid 
the  jeers  of  the  crowd.  Arriving  at  the  station  I had  the 
boy  paroled.  It  was  twelve  o’clock  Saturday  night. 
I took  him  to  his  home  about  a mile  away  and  aroused  his 
mother  from  bed.  I stopped  long  enough  to  lecture  that 
mother,  who  was  a church  member,  and  who,  for  three  dol- 
lars per  week,  hired  her  boy  to  this  dive  keeper.  I found 
better  employment  for  him.  On  Sunday  morning  the  sa- 
loon-keepers had  a committee  of  two  wait  on  me  to  request 
me  not  to  prosecute  them.  They  promised  to  discharge 
every  boy  in  knee  pants  and  get  men  to  fill  their  places 
within  twenty-four  hours.  I agreed  to  wait  on  them,  and 
they  left  assuring  me  that  they  would  keep  their  word.  On 
the  following  Saturday  night  my  two  friends  and  I again  vis- 
ited the  slums  and  found  they  had  kept  their  word;  the  boys 
who  were  discharged  were  sent  to  me.  I secured  positions 
for  some  of  them  in  respectable  places.  This  led  to  other 
Christians  taking  note  of  the  slums  and  taking  children  from 
people  who  kept  dens  of  vice. 

I have  still  another  abominable  system  to  speak  of. 
My  friend,  Miss  B.,  and  I were  just  leaving  Judge  Mar- 
mouget’s  court,  when  we  noticed  the  police  van,  a wagon 
closed  in  on  all  sides,  standing  before  the  building.  White 
and  black,  males  and  females,  were  crowded  into  this  dark 
vehicle  like  animals  in  a cage.  Miss  B.  was  horrified.  I 
explained  the  evil  effects  of  this  system  and  asked  her  to 
get  the  Era  Club  to  take  steps  to  abolish  it.  She  asked  me 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  BOYS’  DORMITORY. 


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the  best  way  to  go  about  it,  so  I explained  what  I thought 
best.  She  exclaimed,  “My,  you  have  a fine  mind,  you  ought 
to  be  a white  woman.”  I felt  hurt  and  answered,  “I  would 
not  insult  my  God  who  made  me  by  finding  fault  with  this 
swarthy  skin.  He  knows  what  is  best  and  placed  me  where 
He  had  need  of  me,  and  I am  grateful  to  Him  for  the  op- 
portunity to  show  the  world  that  I can  serve  Him  well 
where  He  has  placed  me.” 

What  a pity  some  people  worship  color ! It  is  not 
color  that  God  looks  at  but  character.  The  soul  stripped 
of  its  earthly  habiliments  stands  before  God  to  answer 
for  its  conduct  while  sojourning  in  its  earthly  house, 
before  that  mortal  puts  on  immortality.  How  foolish 
are  some  of  the  people  of  this  earth ! The  wisest  king 
that  ever  ruled  a people  was  black.  He  said,  “I  am  black, 
yet  I am  comely.”  When  the  Queen  of  Sheba  called  to  see 
him  and  converse  with  him,  she  could  but  exclaim,  “O,  Sol- 
omon, the  half  has  never  been  told  me.”  She  was  over- 
whelmed with  his  wisdom  and  grandeur.  David  was  great, 
but  his  black  son  Solomon  was  wise  and  a better  king.  God 
seemed  to  love  the  dark  skins  best  for  he  made  two-thirds 
of  the  earth’s  population  dark  skinned. 

I have  visited  the  art  galleries  of  America,  England  and 
France,  I have  seen  pictures  of  Christ  painted  by  the  world’s 
greatest  artists  but  none  of  them  has  painted  him  with 
the  same  features.  The  Germans  have  painted  Him  with 
blue  eyes  and  flaxen  hair;  the  French  and  Spanish,  as  well 
as  the  Turks  and  Moors,  yes,  and  the  English  have  painted 
Him  with  brown  hair  and  eyes,  black  with  swarthy  com- 
plexion. I expect  to  see  an  artist  of  African  descent  paint 
Him  with  their  features  and  color,  though  we  do  not  know 
His  true  color.  I believe  He  was  colored ; his  mother  was 
a Nazarene  and  only  colored  people  lived  in  Nazareth  at 
that  time.  What  does  it  matter,  for  we  are  told  in  the  Bible, 
we  shall  awake  in  His  likeness,  we  shall  be  like  Him.  Bless- 
ed book  that  assures  us  eternal  life,  that  breathes  one  gospel 
for  all ! The  gospel  of  God’s  love  that  permeated  John 
Morris  who  peddled  tins  for  a living,  known  as  cheap  John. 

John  was  a remarkable  character ; he  was  a member  of  St. 
Paul  M.  E.  Church  (Colored),  New  Orleans.  He  was  tall, 
of  black  complexion,  thin,  and  straight  as  an  arrow ; he  was 
a Salvation  Army  by  himself.  Oft  we  met  him  on  the  streets, 


142 


“HE  LEADETH  ME” 


rattling  his  basket  of  tins  and  singing  with  the  Christ-light 
shining  in  his  eyes,  “He  saved  a poor  sinner  like  me.”  One 
morning  I was  waiting  on  the  street  corner  for  a car.  My 
thoughts  were  gloomy  as  the  morning  had  been  filled  with 
many  little  vexations.  It  was  one  of  those  mornings  when 
everything  seemed  to  go  wrong.  I heard  that  familiar  voice 
on  another  street;  finally  he  came  in  sight  and  stopped  oppo- 
site me,  looking  towards  the  heaven,  singing: 

I was  once  far  away  from  the  Saviour, 

And  as  vile  as  a sinner  could  be; 

And  I wondered  if  Christ  the  Redeemer 
Could  save  a poor  sinner  like  me. 

I wandered  on  in  the  darkness, 

Not  a ray  of  light  could  I see; 

And  the  thought  filled  my  heart  with  sadness, 
There’s  no  hope  for  a sinner  like  me. 

And  then,  in  that  dark,  lonely  hour, 

A voice  sweetly  whispered  to  me, 

.Saying,  Christ  the  Redeemer  has  power 
To  save  a poor  sinner  like  thee. 

I listened;  and  lo ! ’twas  the  Saviour 
That  was  speaking  so  kindly  to  me; 

I cried,  “I’m  the  chief  of  sinners, 

Thou  canst  save  a poor  sinner  like  me !” 

I then  fully  trusted  in  Jesus  ; 

And  oh,  what  a joy  came  to  me! 

My  heart  was  filled  with  His  praises, 

For  saving  a sinner  like  me. 

No  longer  in  darkness  I’m  walking, 

For  the  light  is  now  shining  on  me; 

And  now  unto  others  I’m  telling 

How  he  saved  a poor  sinner  like  me. 

And  when  life’s  journey  is  over, 

And  I the  dear  Saviour  shall  see, 

I’ll  praise  Him  for  ever  and  ever, 

For  saving  a sinner  like  me. 


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I was  cheered  and  felt  like  singing  too.  I could  not 
help  exclaiming,  ‘‘Praise  Him.  He  saves  and  cheers  a poor 
sinner  like  me.”  John  smiled  and  walked  away.  I boarded 
the  car  with  the  echo  of  his  song  in  my  heart  and  a picture 
of  his  dear  face  in  memory.  Only  God  knows  the  great 
number  of  people  cheered  and  how  many  souls  were  led  to 
Him  through  the  singing  of  this  humble  black  man  during 
his  many  years  of  peddling  tins.  John  knew  what  it  was 
to  be  in  the  secret  of  God’s  presence,  and  with  Wordsworth 
he  could  say:  “I  have  felt  a presence  that  disturbs  me  with 
joy  of  elevated  thought,  a sense  sublime  of  something  far 
more  deeply  interspersed  whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  set- 
ting suns  and  the  round  ocean,  and  the  living  air  and  the 
blue  sky  and  in  the  mind  of  man  a motion  and  a spirit  that 
impels  all  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought  and  rolls 
through  all  things.”  And  when  summed  up  by  black  or  white 
sage  or  serf  let  the  language  be  smooth  or  rough,  our  God 
understands  and  reveals  Himself  to  those  who  seek  Him, 
and  have  overcoming  faith,  for  through  faith  I have  been 
able  to  accomplish  this  work.  I saw  my  triumph  from  afar, 
by  faith  I drew  wit  nigh. 

HE  LEADETH  ME. 

He  leadeth  me ! Oh,  blessed  thought, 

Oh  ! word  with  heavenly  comfort  fraught  ; 

Whate’er  I do,  where’er  I be, 

Still  ’tis  God’s  hand  that  leadeth  me. 

Sometimes  ’mid  scenes  of  deepest  gloom 
Sometimes  where  Eden’s  bowers  bloom, 

By  waters  still  o’er  trouble  sea — 

Still  ’tis  His  hand  that  leadeth  me. 

I owe  everlasting  gratitude  to  that  noble,  broadminded, 
unprejudiced  Christian  lady,  Mrs.  Ida  A.  Richardson,  the 
widow  of  Dr.  T.  G.  Richardson;  Miss  E.  M.  Treusch,  Mr. 
A.  Baldwin,  Mrs.  Mary  Henderson,  Judge  and  Mrs.  Robt. 
H.  Marr,  Mr.  Alfred  LeBlanc,  Miss  Sarah  Henderson,  The 
Daily  Picayune,  The  Item,  The  Times-Democrat,  and  a host 
of  white  friends  who  have  been  most  kind  to  me,  and  who 
have  been  ever  ready  to  help  with  advice  and  money  when 
it  seemed  I could  not  get  along. 


144 


“HE  LEADETH  ME 


I could  not  write  finis  to  this  book,  however,  without 
giving  credit  to  the  colored  ministry  of  my  city  and  state, 
who  have  thrown  open  the  doors  of  their  churches  for  my 
reception  to  enlist  their  congregations  in  the  work.  Also 
to  the  many  friends  and  secret  and  benevolent  organizations. 
Nor  could  I fail  to  give  due  credit  to  the  bord’s  first  secre- 
tary, Mr.  A.  P.  Gaudet,  who  has  labored  most  earnestly, 
giving  his  time  and  money  to  the  work  among  the  children 
of  his  race  whom  he  loves.  Mr.  Gaudet  was  at  my  first 
meeting,  taking  note  of  all  that  was  said,  entered  zealously 
in  planning  to  help  for  the  success  of  the  project  which  I 
presented.  This  was  not  a spasmodic  interest  but  an  untir- 
ing one,  increasing  with  the  years  so  much  so  that  he  per- 
suaded me  to  retract  my  vow  to  remain  single  June  n,  1905, 
and  agree  to  write  my  name 

FRANCES  JOSEPH-GAUDET. 


